Perceptions 2020

Do You Like Me? Cynthia D. Torres It was late May in Tennessee and the lush hues of green were plentiful. The occasion was my daughter’s eleventh birthday. I had made arrangements to rent a three story cabin in Pigeon Forge and had invited my dad and step-mom as well as my sister and niece to join our family. My daughter had also invited three friends. I was so excited to spend time in the Smoky Mountains and Dollywood was an added treat. In my mind this was the trip of a lifetime. My life was finally in a really good place. I was married to the love of my life, had two wonderful children, and we were able to afford the occasional splurge on a trip like this.

My dad and step-mom had arrived the day before, giving all the adults time to get people, luggage, and kitchen supplies ready for the weekend trip. I needed to get food, and I coerced my dad into going along on the grocery run. After we had made our purchases, we were sitting in the Publix parking lot, and I had an overwhelming urge to ask my dad “the question.” I had wondered about asking “the question” a million times before, but I had never felt worthy of the answer I needed to hear. I was never thin enough, nice enough, popular enough, successful enough, or even smart enough to ask, but today, sitting there, I felt strong. Strong enough to ask him, “Dad, do you like me?”

I wistfully imagined his response, so positive and loving. I even contemplated his surprise at the ridiculousness of the question, with his laughing reply, “Of course I like you. How could I not like you?” Instead, I received a shock.

It is only now that I am able to understand the depth and breadth of that question. There is a world of difference between like and love. I knew my dad loved me, but my understanding of love had become bound up with the idea of responsibility and obligation. You had to love certain people, right? The word “like” 27