CHAPTER 32 -VALENTINE

In February of 1977, my father sent me a Valentine.

Dear Vanda Mary, 

This Valentine's Day, I wish you the peace of mind that can only come through the agony of facing the truth. I'm not saying I have it, but I've touched it and wish you could, too. 

My usual gift of flowers would be meaningless. You'll always be 'Daddy's Valentine,' but I can see how I've tended to hold you that way in my mind, maybe out of guilt. I know it hasn't helped you. 

You're stuck; you're treading water. My Valentine for you is to stop treating you like a child. You're a woman of 17 with a mind beyond those years. 

Your undeniable spirit will never be satisfied with mediocrity, yet you haven't pushed yourself to your full potential. You're content to play 'Queen of the Silver Dollar' - a painted barroom doll relying on her body, looks, and singing to get along. You were doing that a year ago! Where's the progress? You need something to be proud of, and I don't think you've found it. 

Your last letter was signed 'I love you.' My initial reaction was happy, but I now believe you meant, 'I need you.' I hope you can say it with no strings attached one day when you've made something of yourself and are content. Until then, let's no longer play games.

I cry to myself to have to write this kind of letter, but it is because I truly love you. Dad.

Everyone in the mansion at Hyde loved the letter. How could they love something that left me feeling so bad and wrong? I slipped it into the front pocket of my farmer jeans. I wanted to love him more than anything. And I did need him. Where the hell else would I get validation?