Dad,

I appreciate your absence. I’m told we are a lot alike and I am grateful that whatever magic you had could trickle down to your offspring passively. I understand that your disappearance from my life was involuntary and I forgive you. I also hate you. In the shaking hours of the morning, when the world still thinks it’s night, I lie awake in my bed and spit venom on your name. It is a careless thing, bred through pain and want. I’m sorry for that and I would shake it if I could, but you are supposed to be here.

There are battered walls to attest to how deeply your absence has confused and infuriated me in my quest to understand what it means to be a man. Where are you when I am cradling myself in a pool of shattered ego and crying out, “What am I supposed to do? How do I be okay?” I suppose we both know where you are and so I forgive you and I appreciate the chance I’ve been given to craft the man I am supposed to be on my own.

I love you. I hate what happened to you.