Tu reste mon père pour le meilleur et pour le pire
In your hand you’re holding a letter that’s delivering power to finally hold yourself responsible in the last minute of hour for the lives you devoured when we embraced you as a father, a husband to the wives/girlfriends/baby mamas you deceived by being a monster. What was it that had you bother to take part in my creation? Could you not hold it back when you started wall scraping? Can’t you understand that when you chose to drop seed I needed more than just a weekly check? Didn’t you realize that I needed a foundation, someone to guide me in my formative years? Six months before my birth, she finally escaped your grip, no more abuse and hearing it was because you were angry or mentally sick. As got older and things got explained to me, I still yearned for a father because I needed you there to give me clean water, fresh foundation and air. No need to mention what exactly took place unless you can’t remember how you bruised my body and faith, hung me up on a hook to have me shook of your presence. What was it that I did to have you rob me of my essence? I never asked for my birth, I never asked for this curse yet as a child I yearned to earn your respect and my worth. Can you understand the feeling of knowing my childhood is gone?
Never treasured or measured by memories like fishing at a pond instead I was forced to grow soon feeling my joy swoon, my eyes that once shined like the sun now resemble the moon, only twinkle in my eye was the hope that you’d die, paying for slaying the innocence of a child who cried, I would run and hide yet was found fetal in corner sweating from fright as if I were all day in a sauna.
Do you remember the summer I spent in Rochester with Charlie and Leslie and you said I wasn’t fitted to your mold because I questioned why a brother was my cousin and why a sister was a cousin or why I was only 30 days older than another sister? You said how you wished I could’ve been a better son to hold because I rejected your ways. I apologize I couldn’t be a better son you could proudly say is yours with pride in your tone but all you did was call me “my mother’s child” as if I wasn’t your own. I used to cry wishing I never had you as a dad, cry even harder seeing reflections of how you were bad. It took until I became 18… To finally stand strong and stop crying over what it was exactly you did wrong. I even learned to forgive so I can finally move on, called you my father once more hoping that we could bond but you even messed that up when you accused me of sleeping with one of your girlfriends. Now here i am at 25 and the pain still burns. Mr. SAT, a very successful promotions company, graduated top of my class, a bachelor, a masters and two minor degrees yet my dreams still yearn for a respect a son deserves to earn but the fact of reality is that you never will change.
Your Son (or as you see it “Just another name”)