Dear Dad

Published: October 2014

Author: Mystic Dodo

A/N: This could be read alone but can also be considered as a companion piece to "The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Tree". Somewhat inspired by the recent loss of somebody very dear to me.

Mother started to keep a journal after you died, Dad. I'd see her scribbling into it in the middle of the night when we were supposed to be sleeping; early in the mornings before breakfast; a quick entry throughout the day…

As she stomach began to swell with my baby brother, I began to feel overwhelmed, scared, inferior. I had no idea what to do. I felt so alone, so lost. Communications with all aside from the Brief family and Piccolo had ended. All I did was study. Grandpa Ox came over a lot. He practically lived at our house, filling it with his loud booming voice and tales of his past. It was lovely to spend time with him but it didn't replace the emptiness I felt inside my chest. I don't think it did with Mother, either.

Goten was born. I was amazed at the little tyke. A shock of black hair, already powerful ki, a cheeky grin that looked oh so familiar… and as my baby brother grew and Mother's attention was directed towards him, my loneliness intensified. Goten already had a friend in Trunks.

Stupidly enough, I felt homesick for a friendship that hadn't existed in my timeline.

I wanted a companionship with somebody my age. Somebody who had been through what I had, somebody who could relate to my increasing spells of sadness, guilt and sense of abandonment which was of course impossible. Mum noticed my mood, asked me what was up, but how could I complain when she had lost a husband, when Goten would grow up without a father? Gosh Dad. He began to look more and more like you as the months went by. On his first birthday Goten was an exact replica. Looking through photo albums, it was like you were twins.

I admitted that I missed you a lot. Mother suggested that I began to keep my own journal. It sounded stupid but Grandpa supported the idea and brought me a fancy leather bound diary, with thick pages and a gorgeous fountain pen. It took a few more weeks before I put the nib to the paper and even then the only thing I could manage to write was "I don't know what to say".

By the time Goten had aged by another two years he was asking about you. "Where Daddy? Who Daddy?"

I remembered being not much older than he was, confused and scared as to why Piccolo was training me and you weren't there. The concept of "death" was a strange one for the toddler me to understand. What was even stranger was being told that you would be able to come back with a wish from the dragonballs.

Only this time, there would be no comfort in telling Goten that. You didn't want to be wished back. Would you have thought differently if you knew about your second son?

It was quite a realisation to conclude that I was furious with you. Everybody missed you; thought you were so noble and caring for sacrificing your life to keep the Earth safe. I thought it was selfish. I was so angry, so hurt. I had so many questions. Why did you not tell me? Why did you not come back after the explosion of Namek? I knew the few answers you did provide like they were repeated just a few seconds ago but it wasn't enough. I wanted to know why. The details. Your thought processes. I didn't - don't - understand.

In all honesty I feel like I don't know you at all, even after the year of quality time in the hyperbolic time chamber... in which we spent our time training and, rarely, you explaining about all of the amazing things you done in Space. Truth be told, it felt like a stranger was telling it to me. You were different from the father I remembered having before the situation with Radditz happened. You weren't as fatherly anymore. Your eyes sparkled when you spoke about training and power. You were more of a warrior than a Dad.

There would be moments, of course, where the Dad I knew would shine through. Moments where you showed interest in my life, in what Mum had been up to. After spending 3 years training for the androids, living and breathing for your training, in training me… It shouldn't have been such a surprise that you barely took any notice to the normalcy of life around you; of things that didn't relate to sparring or training or talking about how to defeat the androids. I felt abandonded during those times... Goodness Dad. I wanted father-son time with you. Wanders in the forest. Fun times with Icarus. Flying on the Nimbus. Fishing.

Instead we trained. And trained for a further year in the time chamber. I was excited; a year with you, my Dad, my father… It was fascinating, to hear what you had been up to in Space, to hear more about your past. But I wanted to know more about you.

More than anything I wanted you to remember that I was your son, not a future side kick. I was a boy who missed his father. I was your little boy. Didn't that matter to you anymore?

You didn't tell me your plans to use me against Cell. You watched, listened, stood up and done nothing as the living crap was beaten out of me because you believed my power would take over and BAM, goodbye Cell. I had never felt more betrayed. I was so frightened. I fought, yes, but I didn't want to… not really. Not when the fate of the World was on my shoulders. It hurt, Dad. It hurt so much when Cell beat on me. And I felt overwhelmed and shocked when I was buried under rocks, having realised why you weren't helping me.

Daddy, I was a boy. I had my doubts but I thought you would always be there. Yet you expected so much from your saiyan child that completely forgetting about your human son. I had no idea how to control my power. You showed me off all for the wrong reasons. Why?

Piccolo told me in passing that he had yelled at you. Everyone was yelling at you. Saying how I was going to die if you didn't help. That I wasn't a fighter like you. That I was just a scared 11 year old boy. Piccolo said you looked bewildered at that. That your eyes clouded with terror. That you demanded a senzu bean.

Why did it take me nearly dying for you to understand that I was your son, a boy, not a protector of the Earth? Not some saviour. Not a saiyan warrior.

I screamed your name when you vanished with the pulsating mass that was Cell. I cried. All my terror and confusion and guilt streamed through my aching body that felt so unfamiliar with the ascended super saiyan power.

Do you remember what you said to me, Dad? "I don't know how you got it in your head that there is something wrong with you, cause there's not." All because I had shared my doubts about how I hadn't really changed… I wanted to protect my loved ones but I hated fighting, hated losing control, hated being relied on when I knew I was going to fail. I hated the disappointed in everybody's eyes when they tried to make me someone that I wasn't, power or no power.

Goodness the fight within myself, trying to think of who I was. Mum wanted a scholar. You wanted a fighter. Everyone saw me as miniature versions of you yet pampered by my Mother. Flawed no matter what I done or who I tried to please. I always felt like a failure. My high grades meant nothing when I felt coerced into hours upon hours of studying when I wanted to play and explore and spend time with my parents. Every time I was told I was stronger it felt like a skin that didn't quite fit; itchy, and uncomfortable.

I loved looking after Goten. But it didn't take long for me to notice that Mum treated her youngest son way differently to the way I was. I was jealous. Still am. Still wondering why. Still questioning why I'm not good enough. Why my baby brother was allowed to play, to have friends, to train, to be free and to be whomever he wanted to be…

Who the hell am I, Dad?

I'm so angry. So empty. So… dissatisfied. Confused.

I hate you. I love you. I miss you. I wish you had never returned after Radditz. In my worst moments I wish that I was never born.

I feel evil, Dad. I feel wrong. I can't find who I am. Nothing brings me satisfaction. The only time I feel is when I'm with Goten and even then sometimes they aren't good emotions.

Writing this out makes it feel all the more intense and real. Yet like with earlier journal entries I know I will reread this at a later date and think that this mess of a persons' thoughts aren't mine. They can't be.

Mum hopes sending me to school will help with my feelings of loneliness. Yet how can I fit in with superhuman strength, no social skills, no knowledge of the rest of the world? It's yet another persona I will have to play.

I want out. I want peace. I want to stop feeling like I have no emotional skin, moods swinging from rage to tears to panic to numbness in what feels like a blink of an eye. I'm exhausted, Dad. I'm so very tired. Tired of questioning and wondering and thinking about the why's and what if's.

Did you know that Piccolo once agreed with me, validated my feelings on why I was angry with you? Yet now, nearing the end of this journal, stream of consciousness journal entry, I don't have the energy to be angry anymore. Simultaneously I want to scream at you but it would be worthless; like yelling at a puppy.

I don't know, Dad. I just, don't know anymore.