Father did everything he could to curb my rebellious spirit, but it was no use.
I’ve cured myself by holding my behavior up to the light and looking at what I was doing wrong.
Why didn’t Father support me in my struggle? Why did he fall short when he tried to offer me a helping hand?
The answer is: he used the wrong methods. He always talked to me as if I were a child going through a difficult phase.
It sounds crazy, since Father’s the only one who’s given me a sense of confidence
and made me feel as if I’m a sensible person. But he overlooked one thing:
he failed to see that this struggle to triumph over my difficulties was more important to me than anything else.
I didn’t want to hear about “typical adolescent problems,” or “other girls,” or “you’ll grow out of it.”
I didn’t want to be treated the same as all-the-other-girls, but as Anne-in-her-own-right, and he didn’t understand that.
Besides, I can’t confide in anyone unless they tell me a lot about themselves,
and because I know very little about him, I can’t get on a more intimate footing.
He always acts like the elderly father who once had the same fleeting impulses,
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