Uncreative Critisism Meets Its Unfortunate End

I was just thinking about something that my father said yesterday, in between the "I don't get involved," comment and the "you two need to settle this on your own," one. Because as usual, Dad has done what he always does, opting to opt out rather than get involved, all the while trying not to make it seem like he has chosen sides.

But it always seems that he has taken a side, which usually happens to be any side but my own. Maybe it's because I'm like everyone says I am, just like my Mother. And because of this, given any situation where Amy and I are agreeing to disagree, I become the guilty party in the infraction.

Except being compared to my Mother is not a bad thing, unless you happen to be her ex-husband with a 30 year what ... grudge? I don't really know what fuels all that to tell you the truth and I'm not about to start guessing now. But what I do know is this. My Mom is one strong lady. She doesn't back down from the good fight, she goes out of her way to help people in need, and she went through a lot of shit with a lot of people to get to where she is today. And even if I didn't love her because she is my Mother, I certainly would honor and respect her for the woman she is today. So being compared to her, well it really doesn't burst my bubble at all.

Unlike other people in my family, my Mother understands that this blog means a whole hell of a lot more to me than just a mere diary of sorts on the web. And I think she even understands my need to be as brutally honest as I can sometimes be on here, despite the fact that there are times when no one is safe from my bitter tongue and the words I whip down on paper.

But not my Dad.

Dad has never understood this creative side of me. He doesn't understand the drive I feel to write, my need to purge myself of stories. He only understands one thing, which is his opinion that there are some things that you do not post for the entire world at large to read. And perhaps, if this were only a hobby, I too would agree with his point of view.

But blogging on NWTLO isn't a hobby. It's part of my day to day existence, as necessary as breathing in and out. For me, it's part of who I am, when I cannot be who I am with everyone who knows me.

I'm a secret keeper.

Something that sounds truly funny when you consider that not a lot of secrets are kept here. But when you think about it again, it makes sense. Because this is where I come to say all the things I've never bothered to say to anyone out loud. This is where all the things that seem unspoken are often said. And this is where my voice reigns more true than anywhere else in the world.

But I don't expect to my Dad to understand this. In almost thirty years, my Dad still hasn't managed to figure me out. And sometimes I just want to cry my heart out over that, because no matter how hard I try to please him, I can't. And ever since I was a little girl, all I've ever really wanted was his acceptance. To feel that in his eyes, I was just as important to him as my three other sisters. But in my case, I feel as if I'm the white sheep that everyone considers black.

So here I am again, with yet another critic to the way I live my life, with everyone psycho obsessing about what I say or what I might type, when it's pretty much a moot point that I'm going to write whatever the hell I want, when I want, for the pure sake of saying that this is "no holds barred" despite who or what you are to me ... Because this is my life and I'm living it, even when you disagree on the way it should be done.

And to my family, who shudder every time their names are mentioned on the blog - although I should say that no one ever criticizes me when something nice is said - for goodness sake, no one is forcing you to read!