Once in a blue moon, Dad would show up in Dallas and take me out to lunch or dinner. But that was only when he was in town on ranch business—buying livestock in Fort Worth or meeting with his bankers downtown. Once I hit my angsty teenage years, the loneliness and the hurt morphed into anger, just like Mom’s did. What was wrong with this man, never showing up to my recitals? My graduations? Why didn’t he help Mom more? Couldn’t he see how hard it was for her to raise me on her own? I stopped answering Dad’s calls, hell-bent on sending him the silent message that I was pissed. He came to Dallas
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