... but wasn’t sure where to begin. So, this is something I wrote last year. It is a bit long winded and infused with drama, but it’ll do. It is farily close to what I would send him if I had the balls.

Dear Frank,

I have tried to write this letter to you so many times. Words fail me, they always do, but I felt it was important. I hope someday you find this and read this post. I know the chances are slim. I can’t hold it back anymore.

It has been around six years since I saw you last. We didn’t talk much. Or at all. My memories of you are hazy dreamlike and sad.

I have a son now. Did you know that? He is beautiful and smart and everyone says he looks like me. Guess what? He looks like you.

I have so many questions for you. Why did you and Mom split up? Why did you never visit? Why did you never call? Why was I never good enough?

Do your friends know about your other daughter? The one who looks like so much like you? The one who thinks of you all the time? Your life seems so perfect now… I am the kink that fucks up the gears. Your wife, 2 kids, picket fence, dream job.

Did you want to see me more? That is the main question. When I was younger the story in my head was this: There once was a man who lost his true love. Life changed their paths (as so often happens) and he remarried. His wife was evil and cruel and wouldn’t let him see his First Born.

Val is not the evil stepmother. I know now that you have to take responsibilities for your own actions. Take responsibility damnit!

The two things I always wanted in my life: a father and a sister. You kept both from me. How dare you!

How many years ago was it when you showed up at Christmas? Grandma told me you were coming and I remember crying and crying because I didn’t have a gift for you. She wrapped up some Tupperware. I gave it to you proudly. I thought you were back for good. Holidays and get togethers, you were suddenly everywhere. Then I got my wish. The occasional visit with you. Sitting in your house and listening to Madonna with your giant headphones.

Once, I was there when the Super Bowl was on. On the bus the next day I told the boys that I had watched the Super Bowl with My Dad. They quizzed me. I knew that so and so got hurt and I passed their test, forever cementing myself to the Boys Club. A club I still belong to. A club I loathed for so long.

Once we went to a festival. You wanted to ride The Zipper. The Scariest Carnival Ride of all time. Individual cages that flipped along a track, upside down and all around. You looked at me and said “Come on Rita”. I rode it and held in my tears. I wanted to belong to your club too.

If I saw the Zipper now I would ride it alone. It would be my big middle finger to you. I would know deep down that you would never know or understand. I would cry and cry and not ever hold it in again.

And that’s it.

All the memories I have of you. After awhile, the visits stopped. You stopped coming to a lot of the get togethers. You fought with Grandma. You stopped coming all together.

Along the way, I heard that you told my half siblings that I was an Aunt. Along the way, I heard that you thought that I wasn’t really your kid. Along the way, I grew up to resent you.

Do you blame me?

I want to forgive you, but I have been hurt for so long.

You have never known me. You have never meet the man I will marry. You have never met your grandson.

You missed out on a lot.

All this. All this and I still want you in my life. I lucked out in a lot of ways. Your parents and brothers and sister have been so good to me. The love I have from them is blinding. But a part of me will always be the little girl who wanted her Dad.

I have a son now. His name is Xavier. He is smart and funny and bright. He looks like me, he looks like you. I can’t imagine spending a single day away from him. I can’t imagine missing out on his entire life.

Rita