Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

Today is your birthday, you are 69-years-old. For the first time in 39 years, I won't speak to you on your birthday. I won't buy a greeting card that talks about being daddy's little girl. I won't call and hear you answer, in a voice just like Grandma Avery, "hel - oooooo!" There won't be barbecues at your house, where you insist on cooking the meat long before anyone arrives and leave it to warm in the oven. I won't hear "Hi skkkkkkkkinny girl!" when I walk through your door. It's election season there will be no political discussions between us. Gifts of flashlights, pistachios and political biographies will not be given. I won't chastise you for the amount of salt you dump on your food (who salts a hamburger!?) I won't walk through your soft and perfectly manicured lawn, as if you took a large comb and set every blade of grass just so. I won't hear you say how much you brag about Seth and I, knowing well that you exacerbate the truth to bolster us. We won't sing happy birthday and celebrate you. Not this year. Maybe not ever again. 

It's been a week since my world turned upside time. It's been a week since my perception of you changed. It's been a week where I have been filled with rage, then despair, then pity and back again. Of course, I can't say I am surprised to have learned what you did. Tiny pieces of your issues have been breaking through the surface for a decade. These tiny cracks stirring up memories of small ways you have objectified women. The final issue cracking the facade and shattering everything. And while I was the lucky one, your baby, others weren't. Does this mean I have to tell you goodbye, write you out of my life in solidarity with those that you hurt?

It's sometimes impossible to reconcile the dad that raised me, with the dad from the stories I have heard. To me, you were the dad that I always felt safe with and snuck into bed nearly every night, tapping your broad shoulder wrapped in a blue blanket so you would roll over let me crawl in.You were the dad that made up "coo little poo poo", a song the whole family sang to me whenever the garage closed with all of us tucked into the suburban. The dad I knew would rock me in each night, the wood burning fireplace heating the basement, as you watched the Utah Jazz game. I would always pretend to fall asleep so you would carry me to bed. My dad proudly exclaimed "that's my girl" when I caught the softball hit off the tee coming straight at me when I was 7. It was me who would look into your eyes during your divorce and ask you if you had been crying. You were the dad that never missed an important event in my life. You cherished my choir performances and plays, thrilled that one of your children shared your same interests. It was you that sobbed at my wedding breakfast, as we listened to Butterfly Kisses. Always your little girl. Always told to "stay little" while pushing down on my head. 

So much of who I am today comes from you. I'm strong, independent, assertive, a leader. While you used those same traits in ways that I never will, I do have you to thank for them. You also passed along a lot that I wish I didn't have. I'm stubborn to a fault. A fear of seeming complacent. Life-long body image issues. The goddamn patriarchy. You did teach me to stand up for myself. And that is what has led me here today. 

Those more vulnerable than me, need me to stand up for them. Those that suffered at your hands need ME to lead them through this hellish time. Those that don't want to face, or can't face their demons, need me to be their protector now. They are what matter to me. You have left a path of destruction in your wake and I will come through and try to clean up the aftermath. Your aftermath.  And slowly we will pick up the pieces of our broken family. Our family will never look the same,  but we will all begin to heal. We will come out stronger now that we are in an honest place.

The best I can wish for you dad, is that you own up to your mistakes. You need to admit them, you need to apologize for them and you need to begin making reparations. Because from where I stand, you are still my dad. And no matter how angry, and hurt I am, you are still my dad and I don't want to have to cut you completely from my life. I will if necessary. We begin the long process of healing and I hope you join us in that.