"Father, What's Your Favorite Color?"

I don’t know your favorite color.

Let me repeat:

I don’t know your favorite color.

I was conceived from your very seed.

Half of my existence is because of you.

Yet I don’t know something as minuscule as your favorite color.

Is it green like your daughter’s eyes?

Perhaps it’s black like the color she paints her nails?

Maybe it’s a sandy brown like her hair?

Whatever it is it must remind you of her, right?

No,

No, your favorite color must be blue.

Blue, like the Bud Light cans you traded getting to know her for.

I sincerely hope it was the best thing to fall upon your tongue.

I hope it tasted like a fizzy heaven.

I hope that the glorious carbonation that was Bud Light numbed you of your every trouble.

I hope that the buzz you got from those Bud Light cans was worth it.

I hope it was worth losing the chance to get to know your daughters.

Because if it isn’t, what the hell does that say about my worth?

Was I so insignificant that a beer was more loveable than me, your daughter?

Was your addiction to the blue of Bud Light stronger than your love for me?

It must be,

Because I don’t know your favorite color.