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Dad, you stopped liking us. You stopped liking me once I figured out how to phrase words into a question. We were no longer friends when you realized that you could not control me. Now it seems, that you simply do not care. Everything I do goes right over your head. Watching those videos of me growing up with my brothers and sisters make me sad because I could see the other life I should have grown up living. My dad, my best friend. I saw me as a child running into your arms when I was sad or when I got hurt. I called out "dadda" in situations that felt impossible in the eyes of a two-year-old. You hugged me and I hugged you. You kissed me and I kissed you. I laughed because you were funny to me. You stopped being funny when you refused to accept my real age. We stopped being friends when you felt that my questions were knocking your authority, instead of seeing that my questions were amazing. You did not see that I was beginning my life-long journey of figuring out the world. Of figuring out myself. I began to see you differently and I did not like who you were. As terrible as that sounds, I can not deny a truth simply because you are my dad. But it was a mutual dislike because you hated my independency and preferred me otherwise. You distanced yourself from me and in response I did the same to you. It felt natural to me as if this is what a father and a daughter do. It was not until I got older that I realized how much I have lost. But you missed out on a lot of things dad. And I do not mean graduations, reward ceremonies and piano recitals. You were there if only in a physical presence. I knew you were proud but you could never connect with me emotionally. What you missed out on dad were my conversations, my affections, my heart aches, my happiness, my discoveries, my losses and my gains. You missed what really matters to a growing child, because graduations are few and far in between. Let's face it, I did not win to many awards and I have only ever had two piano recitals. One of the most potent emotions I remember feeling as a child was wishing that I had a different kind of dad. The ones who call their daughters beautiful. You have never called me beautiful and I know you do not believe that to be true. I do not feel pretty around you. I am not exactly sure what the point is in writing this, but I can assure you it is not to say that I do not love you. I do. I just don't like you.