[ WP ] Write the letter that you always wanted to , but never did .

Dear, Jeff. 
 
 I'm sure, somewhere in the labyrinth that is your mind there exists the idea that you are a good, kind, emphatic person. Who is right, and just, and reasonable. 
 
 I can not discount this thought entirely, because while I have known you most of my life, I am after all, but merely your son. 
 
 Despite your casual racism, I feel certain that you feel it is justified, even if people give you strange looks when you say, `` Typical dot,'' while driving recklessly. 
 
 You call, or text me, once every three months. For the past two years you have done this. Despite the fact that every time this has transpired that *I* have answered, it has been a painful conversation for you, often ending with. `` Stop calling me.'' 
 
 You may not understand this. I know. You feel I am unfair, that I should simply forgive your transgressions because it has been nearly ten years since they have occurred on a regular basis. 
 
 But, you see. That's how this works. I will never forget the day we went deep sea fishing. It was the only activity left at that point in my life in which you did n't casually demean me every third or fourth word you said. On this particular day, the currents were much stronger than you had thought. Surprisingly, you were n't alone in this shock. Normally, this would n't be an issue. A hundred plus foot boat often has weights to spar. 
 
 But not that day, it was packed. So we got tangled constantly with other peoples lines. I saw you get frustrated. I grew more and more apprehensive about asking you to untangle me, because of course you'd never show, or teach me how to do it myself. But I asked you anyway. Because who *else* was I going to ask? 
 
 Then I asked you. Then you yelled loud enough for the entire boat to go silent. `` I wish you were n't my son.'' 
 
 I feel, in my early twenties, that it's a sad thing when a 14 year old understands, intellectually, that what was just said to him was an emotional outburst. 
 
 Although, even if I understood. It still hurt. That was the last time I allowed you to take me anywhere publicly. 
 
 You seem very unhappy now, that your Mother died, two years ago. As far as I know now, no one in the family will speak with you. You know, you'll probably read this and think I just fabricated that entire fishing trip. I did n't. I've told you about it three times now. Each time, you claimed to have no memory of it. 
 
 Interesting that, I suppose. I'm sure people in a number of fields would love to study you. It may gain them insight into a mind falling into insanity, or deeply sated emotional and mental issues that have somehow remained unchecked for fifty years. But really, I doubt you care about that. You barely understand how basic concepts like why the moon glows at night. Most of this last paragraph is probably, `` Worthless doctors do n't know anything.'' To you. That's fine. 
 
 What you want to know about is me. So I suppose, I'll tell you something. 
 
 You know how you're xenophobic? Ah, I'm sorry. You do n't know what that means, probably. You hate things that are n't American? 
 
 You know, Fuckin''Merica? 
 
 I love anime. That's from Japan. It's cool. I went to Otakon last this year. I'm going again next year. It was awesome. 
 
 I also really fuckin' dig science fiction and fantasy. Which I guess to you is like saying I love hitler and I hang out with Satanists. Which is actually on my to due list. Those guys troll like masters. Plus they actually seem pretty awesome. Have you heard about them helping one of their members fight the state so they could get an Abortion? That was sick. 
 
 Video games. This actually helped me learn IT. Which is what I'm trying to do for a living. But my experience in IT means that I got the job I have now. Which is n't awful. It's even full time. I did this by myself. 
 
 Without *your* help. But not without help entirely. I learned how to ask for that. It's great. A friend of mine helped me write my resume out to make sure I did n't sound like an asshole. It helped. 
 
 So yeah, I really like video games. Too bad you ca n't do anything about that, I suppose. But really, they're great. 
 
 So are the books I read. I've learned a lot by reading them. Too bad you were too terrified in your ignorance to even attempt to get me to read when I was younger, but then you're probably frantically thinking of how awful I must be at this point, and how you need to fix *me. * 
 
 Maybe by offering me money to hang out with you? 
 
 Because you know, I hate that. I *despise, * that. But you always seem to forget. 
 
 The long and short of this is as follows. You are't my Dad. You are n't my family. 
 
 You wo n't be spoken of to my children, if I have them. You wo n't be in my will. You barely even register as but a foot note in my life, and I'm young yet. 
 
 You wo n't live on inside of me. Your hatred, ignorance, and hurt you put me through does not even serve as the fuel that propels me forward. 
 
 I do that. My friends do that, what I choose to give my life meaning does that. 
 
 You may very well die alone, forgotten. 
 
 A small small part of me feels horribly about that. 
 
 But it's a very small part, a precious part. 
 
 The part of me that helps me be a better *person*, than I think you'll ever know.
