To My (Step) Dad

I like to think of the times I’d come and visit on the weekends and eat the dollar tree microwave blueberry pancakes. The awful shoestring french fries. I miss when you’d buy the worse nail polish and paint my nails. I miss when we would garden out front of the house. I miss getting into that ratty old pickup truck with the ladders attached and the bandanas hanging from them. I miss your awful driving and the way the car smelled like black ice car fresheners. I miss seeing the useless junk you had around the house. I miss my cat shamrock and I miss the dog too. I miss the summers we spent together. I miss my 15th birthday when you came up and took me to knobels, the last time I seen you. I miss you actually considering yourself my dad. 
Although I can’t help thinking of the bad times. I don’t miss sitting on the porch waiting for hours and you don’t come. I don’t miss crying to my mom because you lied about being on your way. I don’t miss you not answering my calls for weeks on end. I don’t miss how you were so incomprehensible on the phone because you were so pilled up. I don’t miss the time you told me you weren’t my real father. I don’t miss the way you would fight with my mom. I don’t miss you ruining every holiday. I don’t miss you blowing money up your nose. 
No matter what I’ll always miss you even with the bad times and the good times. 
I just don’t understand why you stopped talking to me. I used to blame myself for asking for money here and there for shoes and clothes. I used to blame your girlfriend that hates me so much. I used to think you didn’t even know I was calling because she constantly had your phone and lying about me calling. Now I know you’re the one to blame. I will never quite understand why you disowned me. I thought I was daddy’s dinky. No matter all the stuff you put my mom and I though I still loved you. 
I do talk to my biological father now and we have a pretty good relationship, but it’s not the same as with you, the man that raised me. My biggest fear is that you’ll die without me ever being able to talk to you again. The sad part is I feel like you’ve already died in my heart. 
I kind of gotten over you leaving me, but I still do call once in a while to hear your voice on your voice mail even though it pains me to do so. I know I always can because you never answer. I’m sorry for whatever provoked you to stop talking to me. "It’s his loss" is what everybody tells me. Recently I have been believing that.
When I graduate and make something of myself, I hope you feel guilty for abandoning me all those years ago. Atleast your sister will be proud of me and love me no matter what. 
Love always, your adopted daughter, Julie.