You must love him, she told me when I was sixteen. He’s your father. Who says I have to love him? I said. Well, I want to believe you’re the kind of person who loves her own parents. Believe what you want. I believe I raised you to be kind to others, she said. That’s what I believe. Was I kind to others? It was hard to nail down an answer. I worried that if I did turn out to have a personality, it would be one of the unkind ones. Did I only worry about this question because as a woman I felt required to put the needs of others before my own? Was “kindness” just another term for submission in
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