You probably think this post is about you.

-“You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon’s playing in the car-

Dad: What does “vain” mean?

Brother: It kinda means you care too much about your appearance and and you think you’re hot shit

Dad: So like Jojo [what my family calls me]

I really hate looking at cards. I know people say “hate is a strong word,” but I hate it. It reminds me that there are people out there who truly do feel this way about their mothers, and brothers, and sisters, and friends, and fathers. And every time I walk this section in a drugstore, I can’t help but feel bad that I have a general dislike for most people.

I guess you could say my dad and I were never really “close.” He’s always thought I was a selfish, vain, conceited ingrate, and he does little to hide it. He’s almost always angry at something or someone, mainly because he thinks they’re incompetent, and if he’s not, he’s apathetic about everything. A lot of the time, I feel like a failure in his eyes; then again, I don’t do very much to try to please him. I’ve given up on that to the point where I don’t even make conscientious choices to please him. I mean, I know he could be worse. He could just not be in my life; at least he’s physically here, right? He could be abusive; at least he doesn’t “discipline” me anymore. He could be an angry drunk; at least he only does weed. But idk. I don’t want to say I hate him, but it’s more than simply disliking him. Heck, I can’t remember having very much small talk with him, let alone one meaningful conversation.

I guess the a pretty good test of how much I care about his is if I would care if he were to die. He was hospitalized around 6 years ago, and what I gathered from others was that he was at death’s door. My mom told me that if he were to die, we would move to North Carolina. That’s all that really occupied my thoughts. I didn’t seem to care about whether or not he would die, but rather the consequences of his death. I almost grew angry at what he would do to my friends, extended family in Boston, my education. Almost. But I knew I shouldn’t have and wasn’t supposed to, so I wasn’t. I cared, kind of. Kind of. But not really.

So would I say it’s great being his son? No, not really.