AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story is actually based on true events and thoughts in my life - up to when the character enters grade 11. I'm not in that grade yet, so none of that stuff happened and I seriously doubt that it will. Just thought I'd say that. This was also a story for this thing I had to do at school. I hope you enjoy it!

~*~I Wanted To Make You Proud~*~

All my life, I wanted to make you proud of me. I knew you loved me because you told me every time I saw you. You knew I loved you back, but I never asked if you were proud of me. I've always wanted to make you proud of me, but I didn't know if you were.

You and Mom divorced when I was five years old. I was old enough to be aware of what was going on. Mom always reminded me everyday that it wasn't my fault she and you broke up. You and Mom didn't divorce because of me, but because nothing was working out between the two of you. I believed her, I had to; she was all I had left without you.

I saw you only once a month. I always put on a smile. I was your perfect, sweet, little angel who loved you no matter what you did. I was obedient and polite - not one speck of misbehaviour could be found on me. I was your little girl who could do no wrong.

Like all children I was never perfect, though I tried living up to your expectations just for you. I tried my best in school; I thought good marks would make you pleased with my hard work and success. I wrote poems dedicated to you; I thought they would make you smile or even cry in happiness. I wasn't into sports, so I make you crafts; I thought you would always cherish them.

I wanted to make you proud of me, more than anything else in the world. I never received the actions I expected from you in return. No tears were shed, no "You make me so happy" words, just the usual, "Thank you" for all the hard work I put towards you.

In grade eleven, I stopped trying. I didn't care anymore because it seemed obvious to me that you didn't either. Why should I try if you didn't care?

I stopped doing my homework, stopped trying my best in school, and even stopped attending classes. You didn't notice except that my grades on my report card dropped twenty to even forty percent. I tossed my book of poetry in the closet and left it there, untouched. You didn't acknowledge my lack of writing because I usually wrote when I was alone. I dropped all of my projects I started making for you in the garbage. You weren't aware that I had started other crafts to give to you for special occasions. Why should I bother if you didn't care?

I started hanging around the crowd you didn't approve of and I didn't at one point either. I started smoking with them. I thought I was cool because they were. I wanted to fit in at school since I didn't with you. I went to parties with booze and drugs. I got drunk many times and even got high or stoned, just like everyone else. I felt like one of the girls who were admired by the unpopular people, those who wanted to fit in, those who were once like me.

I didn't think something bad could have come from it. Like the stupid teenager I had become, I let my drinking get out of control one night. I still don't remember what happened very well that night; it was all fuzzy with darkness and drink.

I was driving home with a group of my 'friends'. We were all drunk and tired from a hard evening of partying. I swear, Daddy, I didn't see that stop sign or that van driving across us. I guess I just wasn't paying attention until it was too late....

When Mom called you to the hospital, I was afraid to face you. I didn't want you to see what your baby girl had become over the past few months. I was ashamed and I thought you would be too.

Daddy, I just wanted to make you proud of me. That's all I ever wanted in all of my life, and then I felt that I had just lost that chance. I was so mad at myself. If only I had been more responsible, it wouldn't have happened. I thought you hated me, as I hated myself at that very moment.

I looked up at you from my hospital bed, you looked so stressed and worried. I turned my head away. I found I couldn't look at you, not after what I had done.. "I'm sorry, Dad," I murmured. My chest felt tight and I thought I would cry. How could I do this to myself? How could I do it to you?

You stared at me, your eyes showed concern and wonder, but I could not look at them. "What for, sweetie?" you asked, sitting down in the chair beside my bed.

I fought back the tears that threatened to fall down my soft cheek. "All my life, I just wanted to make you proud of me," I whimpered, avoiding your gaze. I didn't want you to see me cry. "Now I don't see how you can ever feel proud of me."

You put a hand on my shoulder. Your warm, fatherly touch could calm any child, but I felt like I didn't deserve to be your daughter to comfort and love. I had dishonoured you. Why should you love me or even be proud of me? Your soothing voice broke through my thoughts, "I've always been proud of you and I still am."

I choked back a tear as you continued, "I've been proud of you since the day you were born and I always will."

I sobbed as a tear fell down my cheek. I reached over and embraced you in my arms, and held you tightly. You are my father and although I became the person I didn't want to be, you still loved me and were proud of me, and you always will for the rest of your life and mine. There's nothing more I could ask for.