An open letter to my father. (Warning: this is ugly. Don't expect sunshine and roses.)

I can't even start this letter with "dear", because you've never been dear to me, or even a presence in my life. I have no memories of you being a part of any of my childhood - none whatsoever. You are a shadowy figure that I saw on weekends because a court in downtown Baltimore ordered that it be so. You never made it a point to freely see me or even acknowledge that I existed. At least, that's how it seemed to me.

In hindsight and in knowing what I know now, I know that you and my mother had the world's acrimonious divorce. Neither of you could agree on anything, not when it came to me or my brother, not on how to raise us, not on the slightest thing. I have a hazy remembrance of seeing my mother crying on the sofa after a phone call from you - I know that much. I remember feeling more and more uneasy every time I had to talk to you - because after all, who were you but a stranger? And I'd always been warned never to talk to strangers. You would fall into that category, yeah?

The few memories that I have of you are tainted by the presence of my stepmother - yeah, you know, Carolyn. The one that didn't like either of us but especially not me, because I look just like Mom, the woman that she wanted to forget exists. The way she'd force us to go to church when neither of us were raised to believe. The food she'd make that we hated but had to eat every single morsel of or we'd not be allowed to get up from our seats. The threadbare clothes from Goodwill that she'd dress us in. And the preferential treatment that she always gave Toby, her own son, over us. Oh, I know the way it was supposed to go. Toby first, because Carolyn insisted so. Then my brother, because after all, he was the golden child that everyone wanted. Me last. I know how it's supposed to be, Dad. No worries, I won't step out of line...

But the one memory that I'll never forget is the day when I had to run across two major highways and through an entire neighborhood to my grandmother's house because you were chasing after me and promising that I'd be smacked because I dared to say no to a visitation with you. There was a REASON, Dad, that you never cared to hear about - would you like to hear it now? I had a Girl Scout trip planned, Dad. A Girl Scout trip that I had personally saved for, for months and months, something that I really worked hard for and wanted to go on. It just happened to fall on the weekend that I was supposed to have visitation with you, and I'm really sorry for the inconvenience and the cramp in your style that it apparently put you in. You said no to it, that I was to come with you and that was that - like I was property, chattel, I had no decision in the matter.

But you see, Dad... I took that decision out of your hands. And that's what you wanted to punish me for - for standing up for what I wanted. That's why you chased me across highways, risking my life, being afraid of the very person that was responsible for my own creation. I had to scream for my grandmother to let me in her house because I knew that if you'd caught me I was going to be smacked, publicly, beaten. I knew that. And I'll never forgive you for that, for putting my grandmother (who herself was not exactly a calm person) through that.

I will never forgive you for a lot of things. For abandoning my family, for treating me like I didn't exist, for treating me like an afterthought when you DID finally notice me. I will never forgive you for allowing that woman to force me to go to church and dressing me in little better than rags (letting everyone stare at me when I did go out was a real ego-booster, let me tell you). For cutting me completely out of your life almost from the beginning. I will never forgive you for sending the smallest amount of child support that was legally allowed. You know what your contribution to my life was, Dad? Twelve dollars and fifty cents a week. By the time I was eighteen, that was my fucking allowance, Dad, because what the fuck can you provide for a child with 12.50 a week? That was my bus fare for three days to go to school. Thanks for helping raise me!

Then came your fucking letters. Those stupid "newsletters" that Carolyn wrote to everyone you all knew, and I just became a name on a mailing list to you. Do you really think I give a fuck now what either of you do? Do I care?

The most insulting thing of all is that you claim you want to talk to me. Then talk TO ME - stop fucking having Carolyn write letters FOR YOU. I don't want them! I want to talk to YOU, not to her, all of my fucking life I've had to go through her to reach you. And now you wonder why I won't have anything more to do with you. What's more, you don't even honor the one simple request I make of you. This past March, when my birthday came, you sent my brother a birthday card to send to me - because you don't have my new address or phone number, and the rest of the family is under strict instruction NOT to give it to you. Haven't you ever wondered why that is, Dad? Any clue?

Don't you recall that I asked you NOT TO CONTACT ME in any way, shape or form? That means NO BIRTHDAY CARDS, DAD. No cards, no letters, no phone calls. I don't ever want to hear from you again. RESPECT THAT. But no, you can't even do that for me.

Face it, Dad. You've lost your daughter, the only daughter you've ever had or will have. You've lost that, because you never cared enough about me to forge any kind of relationship with me, not even a crumb here or there. You've been a piss-poor example of a father in my eyes, and in truth a piss-poor example of a man in general. Men don't treat their children like you have me. I've been raised with no good example of what a man should be like or treat women like, and in so doing I now have a skewed, distorted, unhealthy perception of how a woman should be treated by a man. And trust me when I tell you that it's spilled over into my adult life. I live every day with the complications of your choices.

I know what you'll probably do - you'll probably start your blameshifting and say that Mom had a part in this, too. And she did, you're right. Truth be told, I despise both of you for your actions in raising me - you've both made fatal errors in my eyes. But I don't fault Mom for some of it, because she did the best she fucking could with what she had, which in the end was absolutely nothing, thanks to you. I blame you, Dad, for most of it, and I have no problem in saying that I hate you for it.

I hope, on this Father's Day, that you're sitting over there in Arizona (with or without Carolyn - I don't know or care, you made that bed long ago so lay in it) thinking about the bad choices you've made and the consequences of those choices. I no longer wonder if you think about me or if you regret what you've done, because it no longer matters to me in my daily life. I've made what I've made out of myself without your presence, assistance or help, and I don't need you now. Don't come into my life now, because I needed you then - and you weren't there. So as far as I'm concerned, fuck off.

I'm done with you.