I found my dad's instagram today.

It's all pictures of him in Florida, his cats, and his wife. Boats, Disney World, flowers, sunsets and sunglasses and smiles.

There were no pictures of me. Or my sister. Or my twin brother. No mention of his children.

His first born daughter is married and pregnant now. She's got snakes and his attitude.

His only son moved out on his own with his boyfriend of three years.

His second daughter (me) is about to graduate college, first generation, and just got an internship with an online magazine. And yet, I am forgotten and lose the place to Disney's Animal Kingdom and the orange cats you call, "your boys."

You always loved theme parks though. In fact, I work for the same amusement park you did when you were my age. You used to take us on the caterpillar train, and the pirate ship, and the swings, and you would make it work just for us.

Now, when I sit behind the control panel and watch that cartoon green caterpillar that looks like the smoking one in Alice in Wonderland, I wonder what it was you were smoking to make you think leaving us was a good idea. I wonder how high you'd have to be to come back. I wonder if you see caterpillars in Florida and think that maybe you made a mistake. I wonder if you'd ever swallow your pride and come crawling back to us.

The next time you're taking a picture of the beautiful purple sunset instead of me, remember that we have watched all of our suns set without you for the past twelve years, and we will continue to do so.

And in the morning, whether it's over a Connecticut parking lot or the Floridian oceans, the Sun will rise. We will all rise, seperately.