The Budget of Paradox

Sophia,

I tried again to contact you. I don’t know if any of my messages are coming through. I truly have no way to reach you. I wish you at least knew that I was trying. I love you and miss you. Maybe someday we can salvage something from our relationship. I’m sure you must only think of our relationship as a total failure. I wouldn’t blame you. But I hope you understand that it wasn’t my choice. Not at all.

Maybe you’ll never read these words.

I had one small victory. Dr. Rule, the principal of E.C. Glass, finally gave me access to your school records. I only had to threaten him with a lawsuit. Again.

Your records contain your photo. I was surprised. The only photos I have of you are several years old. I still see you with blonde hair, like you had when you were a child.

It kills me a little to see you struggling with math. Your mom will confirm that I’m a math weenie at heart. I’d love to tutor you. In fact, I’d love to get you a whole year ahead. If I were there, I’d be sure you knew the material inside and out.

And what’s up with your attendance? Morey had the same problem in high school: Always late. Is your mother not capable of getting you off to school in the morning? I know she’s a single mom. But she prefers it that way. In fact, she insisted on being a single mom. I was expressly invited to fuck off. So, for someone who wanted all the responsibility, she doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

I used to take Morey to Kindergarten every day. And that’s when we lived in Waimea and she attended Island School in Lihue. It’s a 45-minute drive, but somehow, we made it on-time every day.

Anyway, I’m just frustrated that we’re apart, and you basically have no idea who I am anymore. I hope you believe me: this is not the life I expected to have as your father.

I hope to hear from you.

Love, Dad