Untitled

10-16-17

Quick note: This is probably the most difficult piece I've ever decided to share.

Dear "Dad" or whatever, 

I've avoided writing this for a long time. Every time I think of starting I have flashes in my head of all the many many times you've treated me like shit or fucked me over. Suffice it to say, lately I think about you a lot. Too much. More than you deserve.

I know what you are. You are the yellow starburst in the two pack. Not hated. But definitely not liked. Just there. To ruin the pack of tasty candy. But nobody is willing to risk everything by standing up against yellow starburst. The fight just isn't worth the gains. (Admittedly there are people who actually like yellow starburst, strange as it may be.)

In the list of pros and cons for confronting you about all of your shit behaviors. Past, present, and future. You yourself are the whole cons list. And that's enough to not bother trying.

You are an angry fucking person. Why? What the fuck happened to you? I was raised by your parents. I was angry too. Not at them, not at everyone. But at you. You didn't have garbage parents, so what's the deal? Why are you like this?

You are a coward and a deserter. When shit got bad you ran. Four days. (maybe five) Five days of the whole family frantically trying to find you. You ran to save yourself and you left the three of us with Her. You never stood up for me. You always sided with Her. Like a mindless hangman, you carried out her punishments based on Her version of events. I never got a fair trial, you bastard executioner.

You're a self-serving piece of shit. You've paraded so many women through our lives. Sending us away to Her whenever we were getting in the way. So basically every chance you got. You never listened to our pleas for help. For you to save us from Her. You screamed at us on the phone for calling you every fucking day! And let's not pretend that I wasn't the biggest inconvenience of your life. Real hard to date young hotties when you're the father of a teen. Makes you look old. Better to pretend I don't exist.

The favorites game. I was the experiment that failed. The cause of a loveless, miserable, marriage. Then came MJ, the boy to carry the name. Golden child. And LB, the child born to save a broken marriage. My brother and sister. Shown off to girlfriends to show how responsible you are. Taken to fun places to do fun things, so the ladies could probe they were wifey material. But I could see the confusion and disdain in their eyes as we would occasionally cross paths, thus forcing the ever awkward introductions. It was easy to pretend I didn't exist until I was standing right in front of you. Making you look OLD.

Drinking. You knew this was coming. I don't know that I've ever seen you sober. Like really sober. Not weekend sober. But Honest to God Never Again, Sober. Same goes for Her. And then you and your new wife drink her to death. Yet I heeded the call. I sprang into action. I stood by your side. I walked through a fire for you. Not because you deserved it. Not to humble-brag about my grace. But because you were my father. And if I didn't you'd die. And any hope for a different future would be lost. Forever. Yet still, you drink.

The subtle art of screaming at people so they can't talk about things you don't want to hear. This taught me to win fights by being as mean as possible and making sure I was louder than my opponent. That's how you win. Meaner and louder so they retreat. And you continue behaving this was until nobody can approach you about anything. Any problem, big or small, any complaint or judgement, or questioning. You've created this hostile environment. A conversational mine field. Like a rabid tiger, you dare people to step too close to your boundaries. Silently daring them to come at you. Maybe even yelling at them just for being in the same room. "YOU'RE IN MY FUCKING WAY!!" Everyone is in your way if they are in the same house as you. It's like you told me, It's your world and we're all just living it.

One upper. Despite your heinous, lazy, disruptive, disturbing, loud, abusive behavior. I was always somehow worse than you. And you let me know it. Yeah, I get it, I was a fuck up and a runaway. Guess what? It was to get away from YOU. So no matter what bullshit you throw at me about my teen years, just know it was a direct result of your bullshit. I ran away from YOU.

Do you know I can still hear you and Her fighting. Slamming into the other side of my bedroom door. Grunting, and cussing, and hitting, and squeezing. Threatening to kill each other. Did you two purposely bring your fights to my literal bedroom door? Do you know how traumatizing it was? At 8 years old. Having to make the decision to get out of bed. Put my shoes on. Dear God, don't let them know I'm awake. Place my doll in my bed so only her hair was showing. Quietly, quietly, open my sliding glass door. Walk to the fence. I hate spiders. I know it's covered in spiders. I have to climb anyway. Eight feet over the wooden fence. My tiny arms lifting my body up with the adrenaline. Over. Drop quietly. Neighbors can't hear or they'll tell. Duck under their window, so they can't see. Run down the walkway. Past their driveway. And another house. Please God don't let the kidnappers get me. Up the next driveway to the sliding glass door. Dark. Locked. NO! Back up the driveway around the corner to the front door. Ring the bell! Bang on the glass! Yell through the mail slot "They're KILLING each other!!" Lights come on. Door opens. I rush inside into Papa's confused arms. I scream again "They're killing each other! STOP THEM!" He and Nany rush me to their bedroom. put me on the bed. Stay here. Grab their robes and fly out of the room, out of the house, like two elderly super-heroes. I'm alone. I fear one or both of you is dead, or worse that you'll hurt my Nany or Papa who are trying to break up yet another fight. I know I'm in trouble. I know what waits for me at home. I can replay these fights over and over in my head for the rest of my life. Routine has a funny way of doing that to you.

I'm tired now. I tried to have something that looked like a relationship. But like always you put your new woman first. Or second. Drinking first. Always. Wait no. You first. Drinking second. Women third. I'm somewhere near the bottom below sports, all of them, food, cooking, pets. Way way down the list. I don't care. Honestly at some point you just became an irritant to me. Like allergies. I'm allergic to you. So I avoid you. And if you get brought up. I get irritated and move the conversation, or thoughts, away.

So enjoy what's left of your life without much of your family. After all, You've earned it.

~J

And one last thing. All of those shitty jokes and comments you make to people, when I'm around. About how because of me you had to take parenting and anger management classes. Let's talk about WHY motherfucker. You punched me in my face so hard I fell back onto my bed. I popped back up, full of hate, and refusing to stay down, so you did it again. And again. In front of my best friend. It was a thursday. I took off after you left. The next day, at school, I called Nany to tell her what happened and why I left, so she wouldn't worry. I didn't notice my teacher there. With tears in his eyes he told me he had to report it. He walked me to the office. Next thing I know I"m being handcuffed (so I can't escape) And walked to a police car. They took me to the children's shelter. It was so full Fourty of us had to sleep on the floor. And because it was end of day Friday, I had to stay in that shithole until a social worker could release me to Nany on monday (pending that it was a safe home environment)
FUCK YOU VERY MUCH!

Sometimes I hate that I STILL love you.