letters lament

Dear Dad

Daddy.

Can I even call you that anymore? Somehow, after all these years and all the messes we've been through, I still want to. It still comes out of my mouth that way, Daddy. You're my dad, and my father, and I suppose you always will be. Why must you be so complicated? Why must our relationship crumble and rebuild itself, over and over again? I hate it.

Sometimes I hate you. 

Let's just start by explaining where it all went wrong. Or, maybe we should start at the beginning? When I was younger, you were never really around. I mean, you lived in the same house and all of that, and I saw you on the weekends watching movies, but that was it. You went on a lot of business trips. A whole lot of business trips, that I'd later learn weren't exactly the best kind of trips. Whenever I saw you, it'd be the typical bribing weekend: mom would go out with her friends, and you'd take Brandon and I out to the movies or dinner or an aquarium, kind of like we do now when I see you. It was different though, becuase I didn't know you, or all of you I suppose. Back then you were my dad, plain and simple. You loved my mom, and you loved me, and that's all I needed to know. 

Once the divorce started, my world crashed down. I knew that you and mom hadn't been on the best terms. I noticed that you stopped sleeping in the same bed, although you never really had; most nights mom slept in the spare room that we had at that time, making the excuse that she never really fell asleep anyway. 

The first year, I didn't really see you much. I always thought it must've been your fault. I guess I was right, I just didn't know how. What could you have done that caused my godparents to divorce as well? Why could mom barely look at you, why couldn't you two be in the same room? 

The second year, my mom told me. Well, she didn't tell me, but she answered my question as easily as she could; is dad gay? Sort of. 

She gave me this look, how did I figure it out, that's what she wanted to know, even though it was pretty blatant. Bisexual, that's a nice term. I mean, I don't have a problem with it, the sexuality part. It's just the cheating that disgusts me, dad. Truly, that's all I hate, the cheating. 

Do you really understand what you've done? All because of what you've done to mom, cheating on her the past fucking ten years or so with none other than my godfather, you've destroyed my views on trust. I have a boyfriend, yes, I do. And because of you, there's always that tiny bit of hesitance that comes with love, because, what if I end up like my mother? What if I marry someone I think I really love, and he turns out to be a gay cheater, or worse? 

I don't even know, just. You say I can't stop being angry with you, but it's because you don't try to make up for your mistakes. You bribe me. You live with the one you cheated with. It disgusts me. You disgust me. 

It doesn't mean I don't love you. 

I just don't know who you are anymore, or maybe I never knew you in the first place.