A model father and an excluded daughter

Well, how do you start a personal report? Okay, I'll start introducing myself then…..

My name is Jolene Santos, and no, I'm nothing like Jolene from Dolly Parton's song. My father chose that name for me because he thought I would look like him and my mother. My father is blond and tall, with blue-green eyes, the most beautiful I've ever seen, he's the hue of the ponds of Switzerland when the sun is shining on them. My mother is Snow White herself, with short, black hair and very white, smooth skin.

And I…. Well, I think I'm a being of an unknown species, the bad apple of the family you know? I'm a redhead and I don't like to comb my hair so consequently, I look like a bozo, and I don't like to do my eyebrows either, my clothes are baggy and a bit masculine. But not in a stylish way, but in a weird way.

Sometimes I see the distrust on people's faces when they say I'm the daughter of Carlos and Eva Santos, and I also see people's disappointment when they say I'm Brazilian:

Really? Wow, that's cool. You don't look very Brazilian, like Xuxa or Gisele Bündchen… I mean, don't Brazilian women tend to be tanned?"

Look how beautiful! In addition to being the bad apple of the family, I am the bad apple of my nation.

But lately, I'm caring more about my looks and my looks because I saw the cutest boy in my town working in Mr.Henderson's store. He's black, tall, and strong, he looks like those basketball players who pose for photos more than they play. Oh my God, now I'm sweating just imagining that his mom is having dinner with mine today.

It turns out that his family is also Brazilian, just like mine, so our mothers got closer because of similar customs. My dad said he's going to help me win Jordan, which would be my mom's job, but she's been too busy.

While we were eating pastel with coca my father told me what I had to do

- It's simple, daughter, we're going to do some shopping for you to try to improve this wild animal style. You just need to hang out a little more, you're 17 and you don't even have any friends.

- Not even in preppy clothes, I'm going to look pretty, dad, I don't think Jordan will like it.

- You have to do it for yourself, not for Jordan, and don't be dramatic, you're beautiful.

- A father's opinion doesn't count, he's saying this because he has to and because you made me.

- IT IS…. Well, I read that in the manual - my father spoke sarcastically.

The good thing about having a model and vain father is that he knows how to do his hair and buy nice clothes. Mine wanted to do my eyebrows and shave my upper lip and armpits… Letting off steam, it was horrible. I have never felt so much pain in my life.

- Don't be exaggerated daughter, and look, remember not to be nervous and say things without nexus ok- he said while braiding my hair inlaid, at least he tried

- Ouchh - I screamed with the comb getting in my hair.

- Calm down, you need to untangle to do the braided, love. When was the last time you combed that hair Jolene? - he said angrily.

When we were done, it was like that glow-up in teen movies. My father looked at me and said:

- You are the most beautiful woman in this house, love, thanks to me - he said with that ego the size of Mount Everest, my father wouldn't be amazing if it weren't for that.

When Jordan and his family we all sat on the couch first, catching up and waiting for dinner to be ready. Jordan looked at me and said:

- What did you do? You look more beautiful than usual Jolene- I just wanted to say thanks, but I didn't realize it was a rhetorical question.

- Thank you, I did my eyebrows for the first time and shaved my upper lip and armpits.

Jordan looked like he wanted to laugh in my face and my dad made a face that didn't know whether to laugh or cry, only then did I realize I said what I shouldn't have.

We laughed a lot at dinner. It's nice to have another Brazilian family, just like you, in a foreign country.

After a few days, I had to go to a party, but obviously, no one at school invited me, so I had to crash. I told my dad I had to go because of Jordan and he said he would help me get ready. We bought a short-sleeved, knee-length aqua green dress, very discreet, kind of going to the park, not prom style. Arriving at the place, as if not wanting anything, we went to the back of the house and tried to jump over the wall.

It was a disaster, I put my foot on my father's hand to try to climb the wall but it didn't work, I fell and hurt my knee. My God, and he was still there waiting for me with girls my age flirting with him, my father.

I managed to win Jordan after a hard month of trying. My dad helped me in the smallest details so I could try to fit in with my schoolmates and Jordan's friends. He did what he could, but it didn't work out . Sometimes he forgets that he's the role model and I'm the clumsy one in the family.

Once I was 5 years old and I tried to ride a bike with the help of my father, I succeeded.

Once I was 10 years old and I tried to call the pizzeria by myself and place a simple order, but with my dad's help, I did it.

Once I was 17 years old and I tried to get a boyfriend, I got it with the help of my father.

Once I was 20 years old and I tried to get ready for my friend's wedding, and my dad helped me buy the clothes.

Once I was 24 and I got ready for my own wedding, my dad walked me down the aisle.

Once I was 30 years old and got pregnant, with my father's help I had a "mom break" on the weekends.

Once I was 33 and I fought with Jordan (my husband), my father who helped me at that moment.

Once I was 40 years old and I started helping my father.

Once I was 45 and Dad was gone forever.

Once I was 50 years old, I wished I had my dad here so I could help him like he did when I was 5.