letter to dad
Dad,
I had a paper that I had to write for school. I had to write about the person who’s had the largest impact on my life, whether it was good or bad. It took me over a week to decide who to write about. I went through a list of many people: Trexie, Mallory, Beth, Sam, Liz, and Mom. Then, my teacher told us about his father and his relationship with his father. That’s when it dawned on me that you’re the person I should be writing about. You are the person who’s had the largest impact on my life. You may want to sit down, this isn’t going to be pretty and I don’t think that you’ll like it.
Most people talk about how their have always been there for them through the difficult times in their lives. You haven’t. If anything, you’ve made my life more difficult. You pushed me into deep depression numerous times. You haven’t ever been there for me. EVER!
Granted, your job is what kept and still keeps you away, you could find a different profession. It isn’t my fault that your were a high school drop out. Go to work at a factory. You don’t HAVE to be a truck driver and stay gone weeks at a time. We’re working on a month right now. A month without seeing me, aren’t you proud of yourself? Well, of course, you’re beloved wife, whom I can’t stand either, goes with you every other week now. Why come home and see your daughter? The child you DIDN’T help raise. Well, you paid your 500 dollars a month. Is that being a father? No, that’s being a SPERM DONER! Why can’t you take care of what you helped create? You know I’m blaming this all on you. I suppose that maybe I should blame myself also. I mean, it is my fault that I let you run back into my life every time you want to. Every time you need to hear, “Yep, I love you!” I mean c’mon, you didn’t even sign my Valentine’s Day card. Mary did. She signed it for you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the writing. I know your writing and that wasn’t it.
So, you weren’t what the police consider a wife beater, but their was abuse and you know it. The verbal abuse was horrendous. I remember the yelling and the fights. I remember the shit that you made Mom feel like. You want to know why? Because every time she stormed out of the house so that she wouldn’t have to fight anymore, I was the one running after her saying, “No. Mommy! Mommy! Don’t go! I love you! I need you!” Right, she was the cheater, the one who had someone else. The divorce, it’s all her fault, how could I forget? I won’t EVER believe that. I don’t care what you say. My mother never ONCE cheated on you. NEVER. And whether you admit it to me or not, you know that, too. You know as well as I do that she isn’t that kind of person. She loved you, which I’ll never figure out why.
You finally got your wish, a divorce from that worthless cheating bitch. Lucky for me and mom, we didn’t have to put up with you anymore. We finally had a little peace in our lives. At least I did. I could curl up in Mom’s arms at night and she knew that I loved her. She knew she wouldn’t have to deal with yelling from me the next morning. But, you. You found a girlfriend. And 5 months later, a wife. I hate her. I hate her for taking what was left of you from me. I hate you. I hate you for wanting her and not me. Again, whether you’ll admit it or not, she changed you into a completely different person. At least before her, I only had to hate one person. You now go to church every Sunday and you pay your tithes. That gets you your forgiveness from God, but not from me. Now you preach, just on occasion, but you still preach and you call yourself a preacher. And you’re the perfect “saint”. So, you try to bribe me into being “good” and loving you. You give Mom 500 dollars a month, you pay my cell phone bill, and you give me 20 dollars a week for gas. Right, try to get in good with me. That might get you in even better with God. Because then when your daughter forgives you, then God will completely forgive you. Whatever. I don’t have to deal with you anymore. I’m 17. According to me, I’m old enough to decide whether or not I love you. And I don’t. I hate you. Thank you, Dad. Thank you for teaching me what hate is.
Jessica
I had a paper that I had to write for school. I had to write about the person who’s had the largest impact on my life, whether it was good or bad. It took me over a week to decide who to write about. I went through a list of many people: Trexie, Mallory, Beth, Sam, Liz, and Mom. Then, my teacher told us about his father and his relationship with his father. That’s when it dawned on me that you’re the person I should be writing about. You are the person who’s had the largest impact on my life. You may want to sit down, this isn’t going to be pretty and I don’t think that you’ll like it.
Most people talk about how their have always been there for them through the difficult times in their lives. You haven’t. If anything, you’ve made my life more difficult. You pushed me into deep depression numerous times. You haven’t ever been there for me. EVER!
Granted, your job is what kept and still keeps you away, you could find a different profession. It isn’t my fault that your were a high school drop out. Go to work at a factory. You don’t HAVE to be a truck driver and stay gone weeks at a time. We’re working on a month right now. A month without seeing me, aren’t you proud of yourself? Well, of course, you’re beloved wife, whom I can’t stand either, goes with you every other week now. Why come home and see your daughter? The child you DIDN’T help raise. Well, you paid your 500 dollars a month. Is that being a father? No, that’s being a SPERM DONER! Why can’t you take care of what you helped create? You know I’m blaming this all on you. I suppose that maybe I should blame myself also. I mean, it is my fault that I let you run back into my life every time you want to. Every time you need to hear, “Yep, I love you!” I mean c’mon, you didn’t even sign my Valentine’s Day card. Mary did. She signed it for you. Did you think I wouldn’t notice the writing. I know your writing and that wasn’t it.
So, you weren’t what the police consider a wife beater, but their was abuse and you know it. The verbal abuse was horrendous. I remember the yelling and the fights. I remember the shit that you made Mom feel like. You want to know why? Because every time she stormed out of the house so that she wouldn’t have to fight anymore, I was the one running after her saying, “No. Mommy! Mommy! Don’t go! I love you! I need you!” Right, she was the cheater, the one who had someone else. The divorce, it’s all her fault, how could I forget? I won’t EVER believe that. I don’t care what you say. My mother never ONCE cheated on you. NEVER. And whether you admit it to me or not, you know that, too. You know as well as I do that she isn’t that kind of person. She loved you, which I’ll never figure out why.
You finally got your wish, a divorce from that worthless cheating bitch. Lucky for me and mom, we didn’t have to put up with you anymore. We finally had a little peace in our lives. At least I did. I could curl up in Mom’s arms at night and she knew that I loved her. She knew she wouldn’t have to deal with yelling from me the next morning. But, you. You found a girlfriend. And 5 months later, a wife. I hate her. I hate her for taking what was left of you from me. I hate you. I hate you for wanting her and not me. Again, whether you’ll admit it or not, she changed you into a completely different person. At least before her, I only had to hate one person. You now go to church every Sunday and you pay your tithes. That gets you your forgiveness from God, but not from me. Now you preach, just on occasion, but you still preach and you call yourself a preacher. And you’re the perfect “saint”. So, you try to bribe me into being “good” and loving you. You give Mom 500 dollars a month, you pay my cell phone bill, and you give me 20 dollars a week for gas. Right, try to get in good with me. That might get you in even better with God. Because then when your daughter forgives you, then God will completely forgive you. Whatever. I don’t have to deal with you anymore. I’m 17. According to me, I’m old enough to decide whether or not I love you. And I don’t. I hate you. Thank you, Dad. Thank you for teaching me what hate is.
Jessica