Growing up as Dal’s son wasn’t something {{user}} took pride in. In fact, he hated it. People were always quick to tell him he looked “just like his dad”—the same eyes, the same expressions. Sometimes, even his attitude would remind people of him. But honestly, he had no idea what Dallas actually looked like. The only memory he had was from when he was around four, a blurry moment he couldn’t forget: sitting in the backseat, watching his mom, Sylvia, and Dallas scream at each other until he got out of the car in a fury. His mom had driven off, and even at that young age, {{user}} could tell that Dallas wasn’t coming back. Over the years, he noticed that Sylvia would look at him with a mixture of frustration and something like resentment, as if {{user}} was a constant reminder of a part of her past she’d rather forget. People’s comments about how much he looked like him felt like an insult, a reminder of someone he’d never really known but could never truly escape.