Skip to main content

My Father’s Letter

Lately I've been dissatisfied on the relationship I have with my father. We've never really gotten along, but my grandmother's recent passing helped put things in perspective; none of us lives forever. Part of my patience comes from a phrase I coined while waiting for the bus, train, or whatever; "It's only time." Truth is, it's one of the few things we can't get back when we lose it…

I've written my father ice-breaking letters before, but I never could convey the message because I was so pissed off. I haven't felt so angry lately (first time in forever, I can't tell you how good it feels) so I sent him a sincere letter to let him know that I was okay. I cemented this point by stating that I had been able to tap my own legitimate resources to replace the laptop that had just burned out.

On another note, I'm realizing that some people have been waiting for me to "get here" for a very long time. But anyways…

I wasn't expecting such a quick, or forthcoming, response. My father has always been very secretive, he could baffle Batman if he wanted too. So this was unlike him. He told me…we always butted heads because we were so much alike, and he's right. We're both tough as hell and we both can have this intimidating Darth-Vader type presence when we want too.

He also said something to me that he's never said before, and even as I write this, I'm still not sure I believe it. He told me that he actually respected me for being who I was, for staying true to who I was. My father actually said he respected me. Thirty-one years, he's never told me that.

You know, my father was the first person whose opinion I learned to tune out, so I found myself a little embarrassed that I was getting a little misty-eyed as I finished reading the letter. He told me he loved me, something else he never says, and we could talk more often.

I laugh and make stupid jokes when I'm trying to brush off deeper emotions. I didn't fall into a bawling heap or anything. Instead, I wiped my eyes and playfully cussed my old man out; "You fuck…you ALWAYS know how to reach me, don't you…"

I walk into the kitchen—my kitchen—where I'm prepping dinner and my right fist lashes out at the side of the fridge as I force the waterworks back down. That's as emotional as I allow myself to get.

I admit that I feel like I've done it and not just said it; come full circle as a fighter, a martial artist (there is a difference) a game developer, a writer, and as a man. I no longer refer to myself as a "kid".

I miss my children. I'm a horrible father if for no other reason than I allowed them to be removed from me, but things between me and Sam are on a huge upswing. I'll get another chance.

I'll also answer to Terry and Brandon one day. So will their mother.

But for now, there it is, and I need to eat dinner.


koekoeh gesang said…
Hi, greeting from Bali ^^!
tammey said…
I know how hard this was for you. I just want to let ya know how proud of you, I am. You have become full circle. I know it was a difficult circle, but it made you grow into the wonderful man that you are. Love ya.

Popular posts from this blog

The Long Road Home

I will end you tonight. No, wait. That's not where the story starts. The story starts two and a half years before this, when Michelle (referred to as Michelle for legal reasons because SATAN was too heavily trademarked) reached out to me by Facebook. She mentioned that we played the same Facebook game and she wanted to say hi. I had never, in fact, even heard of the Facebook game. But I was freshly broken out of a relationship and she was pretty with a good body so I said "Hurr, okay." Conversation ensues. She tells me we came up in the same place. We did not come up in the same place. We spent one night in San Francisco talking. But I really wanted to sleep with her. So, "Hurr, okay." Fast forward a few months. I've left Missouri for the beautiful Pacific Northwest. I've settled into the ass end of Lynnwood, a suburb of Seattle. The apartment was so bad that the landlord wrote the mold on the wall off as "crayon coloring

America: A True Story About Hatred and Unity

I wanted fast food tonight. That was all. I found myself at Burger King to pick up my wife's order. I was a few cars deep when I spotted the Confederate flag. I surreptitiously snapped a few photos. This was going to be a very different story. When I pull out of Burger King, it turns out there's more than one. In fact, there are four trucks, each flying variations of the flag. I have to go around the front of them to avoid an accident. They're parked right in the middle of the road. As I drive around them, each person in the vehicle makes it a point to ensure I see them. I do. They see me too. When I get to McDonald's (which is in the same lot), I learn that they're not taking debit cards at the moment. Terrific. I wanted chicken nuggets and instead, I get a run-in with the new Confederacy. So I make my way back to Burger King, again appearing in full view of the trucks. I place my order, get it, pay, and pull out. Then one of the

Wave Rocketbook Reviewed

I love writing by hand, and I love notebooks. I'll often devote entire budgets to them and when Officemax has one of their twenty-five cent sales, I'll buy them out. I often draft by hand, finding that the scene comes together more purely when it flows from a pen rather than a keyboard. So when DailyDot advertised a durable new type of notebook that you could use over and over again for the cheap price of twenty-five (thirty after shipping) US Dollars? I'm down. The Wave Rocketbook is meant to be elegant in its design and simple in its execution. The instructions come on the bag itself, and only the pen and notebook are included. The pen feels like any other, so you have to be careful not to mix it into your collection or you will end up marking your notebook with the wrong pen (like I did). The ink is erasable, which is a bonus. A place to put the pen would've been nice, but it clips easily, if not securely, into the ringed binding. The paper is thick and