I could feel the slippery slope we were heading down. A spiral embedded in a silent hope of mutual acceptance and approval. But within that delicate system of checks and balances I could see the clause, the obvious downfall of such a limited friendship, found in the moment in which we disagreed. Which is to say I could see he was always looking for proof. Always judging.

Would today be the day I said something he found fault with? Would 4:00pm bring about a discussion in which I asserted an opinion he found even minor fault in, thus showing a chink in an armor of a pefection only defined btruly by commonality?

What I am saying is: he was always looking for proof that I was terrible or great. Always redefining my worth based on a phrase in passing or a decision judged without discussion.
If I scowled at something he enjoyed it was just further evidence of my lack of awareness or taste. If I called something great, it was proof of hyperbole. If I failed to react with the right level of venom, it there was my apathy.

Sometimes I pondered if I should feel flattered by this startling display inspection. If there was something personal in the manner in which I was always on a chopping block or pedestal.

At a distance, I generally suspect there was something deeply impersonal about his outbursts. His need to villify or approve. That his judgements only revealed his own extreme internal compass.

A strange, almost methodical method of culling.

I also suspect they were, very simply, a way of making himself g-dlike. In a position to judge he proves his own worth.

But yet, even now, I can’t help but to wonder at my occasional need to find importance in his words. The abrupt crash as he deems me irrelevant or illogical or beyond saving. The almost sexual tension found in joy attached to another job well done, another sentence or structure built to his specifications.
It has a way of making me feel…visable.

But then I get shy again, as I am wont to do. And close the door.
And then I grow a pair. And remember I already have a daddy, if I want to concern myself with tantamount approval. And I don’t need the bullshit stamp of approval of a person immune to beauty of nuances and the complexity of the real world.