Cynthia D. Torres Do You Like Me?

Do You Like Me? Cynthia D. Torres

It was late May in Tennessee and the lush hues of green were plentiful. The occasion was my daughter’s eleventh birthday. I had made arrangements to rent a three story cabin in Pigeon Forge and had invited my dad and step-mom as well as my sister and niece to join our family. My daughter had also invited three friends. I was so excited to spend time in the Smoky Mountains and Dollywood was an added treat. In my mind this was the trip of a lifetime. My life was finally in a really good place. I was married to the love of my life, had two wonderful children, and we were able to afford the occasional splurge on a trip like this.

My dad and step-mom had arrived the day before, giving all the adults time to get people, luggage, and kitchen supplies ready for the weekend trip. I needed to get food, and I coerced my dad into going along on the grocery run. After we had made our purchases, we were sitting in the Publix parking lot, and I had an overwhelming urge to ask my dad “the question.” I had wondered about asking “the question” a million times before, but I had never felt worthy of the answer I needed to hear. I was never thin enough, nice enough, popular enough, successful enough, or even smart enough to ask, but today, sitting there, I felt strong. Strong enough to ask him, “Dad, do you like me?” I wistfully imagined his response, so positive and loving. I even contemplated his surprise at the ridiculousness of the question, with his laughing reply, “Of course I like you. How could I not like you?” Instead, I received a shock.

It is only now that I am able to understand the depth and breadth of that question. There is a world of difference between like and love. I knew my dad loved me, but my understanding of love had become bound up with the idea of responsibility and obligation. You had to love certain people, right? The word “like”

is free from obligation and coercion. It is the emotion you convey upon someone who meets your definition of suitable, charming, fun, valuable, precious and wanted. That was the real question I was asking my dad, “Dad, do you like me enough to choose me over the others?”

I had worked so hard to get to this place in my life. I was content with a measure of pleasure in how far I had come. I was no longer the object of shame and ridicule. I was born again in many ways. As I sat there waiting for what came next, it felt like time stopped. Was it a few seconds or minutes? I do not know. What I heard in response to my question was rage. He was infuriated. I was stunned and almost scared at the intensity of his loathing. He started hurling accusations at me for “ruining everything” with the implied addition of “again.”

I am not sure how I drove home. A heavy silence had settled on us, and it was laden with displeasure and regret. Once home, we unloaded the groceries and packed everything for the weekend. I do not remember the rest of the evening. I do not remember how we got to the rented cabin the next day. I was too embroiled in the pain. The only thing I do remember is the agony that accompanied me throughout the weekend. I felt like my insides were frozen while at the same time my skin was blistered from a burn. Every movement was excruciating, so I moved slowly and without fanfare. This trip I was so looking forward to had become a heartbreaking ordeal, a poignant reminder of my past.

Perhaps if I had not been so confident of his response, I would have never broached the subject. Except, I had worked hard and long to earn his approval. I had built something that was worth being proud of, but alas, not for him. At that moment I learned to never ask that question again, from anyone. I had learned to not need anyone’s validation. Needing someone’s approval was a double edged sword, and I would not impale myself again.