To my dear beautiful daughter
I’m writing you a letter. That’s right, a good old fashioned letter. It’s a lost art really, like handjobs.
I have a confession to make – I didn’t like you very much at first. You were just this annoying little blob who smelled nice, most of the time, but you didn’t seem to have much interest in me. Which I of course found vaguely insulting. It was just you and your mom against the world. Funny how some things never change.
So I cruised along, doing my thing, acting a fool, not really understanding how being a parent changes you. I don’t remember the exact moment everything changed, I just know that it did. One minute I was impenetrable, nothing could touch me, the next, my heart was somehow beating outside my chest, exposed to the elements.
Loving you has been the most profound, intense, painful experiance of my life. In fact, it’s been almost too much to bear. As your father, I made a silent vow to protect you from the world, never realising I was the one who would end up hurting you the most. When I flash forward, my heart breaks. Mostly because I can’t imagine you speaking to me with any sort of pride. How could you?
Your father’s a child in a man’s body. He cares for nothing and everything at the same time. Noble in thought, weak in action. Something has to change. Something has to give.
It’s getting dark, too dark to see …