Key:

Peace!

I am writing about something I should have sat down and talked to you about a very long time ago. Although my actions say otherwise, I love you as if you were my own son. I did not think about these feelings until I talked to your brother about it and he admitted that you remember more about our time together as a functioning family then you do. I had to point out that I have known you since you were 6 months old.

When your mother and I broke up, I thought I would continue to be considered your father. It makes sense right? You were calling me "daddy" since you could talk. Since that time, while home on leave or on liberty from the Navy, we spent more time together then I did with your mother. When we had no car, I took the almost 2 hour bus ride to drop you off at school. I remember the times your mother went out to the clubs on Thursday and Friday evenings and you and I would eat a whole pint of Haagen Daz ice cream together.

When your mother told me that our relationship as father and son had to end, I was heartbroken. To be honest, I never forgave your mother for that. When she made this suggestion I protested. Of course, she shot me down. She was your mother. Before I dropped the subject, I told her that she would regret that decision. Ironically, your mother never hesitated to ask for money to help purchase an item you needed.

There were also times when your mother complained about you and I suggested having you live with me and she refused. I will also point out that a good number of things that I reveal in this letter I have never told anyone else before except my wife.

Over the years, you have stated how you were upset at my approach to our relationship. When I came to pick up your brother, you wouldn't greet me. At times, you were disrespectful to me and my family. I ignored those acts with an understanding that you did not know what you were doing. I want to point out that despite the fact that I didn't fight for you when I should, my family has considered you a son and have argued that I should have stepped up when your mother asked me to stepped down.

I have come to learn that your mother has recently kicked you out of her home after she finally got married. It broke my heart that your mother washed her hands of you. While I admit that you have been difficult, the things you have done are very, very trivial and I find them to be the rebelliousness of your youth. I know you are a good
person. At times you are misguided and like the rest of us, are emotionally wounded. Yes, you are a product of a rape but that doesn't make you less of a person.

I miss and love you and wish that I had been more aggressive in the manifestation of that love. I should have been more vocal when your mother made that decision. Yet I just did the motions and stepped off. I should have snatched you up to live with me all those years ago when you had trouble in school. When you were in trouble with the law, I should have arrived in court to support you. I should have called you and said, "come stay with me, brother."

I know at times you look at me and my family and wonder how it all might have turned out if I stepped up. At times, I do the same thing. I only ask that you find it in your heart to forgive me. Yes, I do accept blame. It's a tough pill to swallow and forgiveness is a tough thing for me as well. It does not change the fact that deep down inside, I still see you as a son.

Sincerely,

Dan Tres Omi

Dear Steven,

*sigh*

I've written many letters and have not sent them. I always say, this time I will send it. I've written them in anger, and when I've been happy. If I thought for one moment you could take it, I'd give you them all, but no. For every step we take forward, we go back five.

You were someone I really liked, and for me, that says a lot. You're everything I want or I thought wanted. You've made me grow up a lot in the last two years. I'm older than you but only in age. Me being a virgin is the only thing that has kept us friends this long. No matter how many times we tried, it never worked out that way for us.

I want you as a friend and we are slowly making our way. I hope one day I can stop thinking of you as mine, and learn to share. Until then I'm going to hate every bitch you bring around....because you're mine. Your presence calms me. Your voice makes me smile. Your happiness make me happy.

I don't like many things about you, especially the lying and half truths. I wish we had a friendship where you felt comfortable to be your whole you. One day, maybe. Or maybe it's just not meant for me, and that makes me sad.

I should've known to let go you earlier on. I mean, at one point your name was "shady ass flacky ass steve" in my phone. So I guess you showed me who you were and my dumbass looked at your potential instead. I'm living and learning, and you've been one of my biggest lessons. And I keep learning from you. One day I'll say your name and feel nothing.

Well at least that's my hope.

Signed,
Thanks for the Lesson

Dear Pa,

I almost feel guilty writing this to you. I have always played around with the idea of telling you how I feel but have changed my mind, for fear that I may be out of line. I wish I could go back into your childhood and understand why you are the person you have become – emotionally distant, a dogged hardworker and awfully abrasive. With the exception of the emotional piece, I see myself in you.

Those similarities are what drive me insane. As a child, I wanted to be near you at all costs. I wanted you to be around me and enjoy my company. I saw our physical similarities – the eyes and the nose-- and as a trivial youngster thought that was enough to make a connection. Even when we tried the whole “normal family living gig” I was struck by the similarities in our impatient attitudes and way we dismiss people – with our hands.

Or maybe, I took on those mannerisms just to be like you – craving the attention I never received. I would love when you came around – even if it only meant you threw a few 20’s at mom and called it “child support”. Yeah right. You owe that woman more money than you have ever made. You owe her your complete gratitude and appreciation for raising a child that you barely wanted with such selflessness and commitment.

The real reason for this letter is to ask why you have never said I love you. Just three simple words- not simple but hopefully honest. I mean, I cannot imagine how hard it may have been to grow up without your mother around –craving attention from your grandmother who probably had just enough energy to put food on the table and protect you from being a victim of the rampant poverty in central region of DR. Maybe your mom or your dad never told you they loved you.

I wonder if it is because your plan never included having children – seeing them as a distraction towards your rampant conquest of any Dominican woman dumb enough to fall for your crap. Maybe. I do not have a fucking clue why you would not love me. Well, maybe because I do not call you enough or seem to care about you. Or because I seem to only respond when you buy me something – the car I drive and so much more. Forgive me but it was the sole way you seemed to ever show me that you cared as I grew up– with your wallet.

I have tried to do it all to make you love me more – not becoming a statistic, going to an Ivy, not becoming a teen mom, not cursing in your presence, going to church, working in a well respected profession, and even losing weight. Yup, even that. In the back of my mind for the past years, I wondered if you did not love me but I was not thin enough. But, to date, you have not even mentioned anything about my weightloss – positive or negative.

I am rambling at this point, but my question is simple. I know that you are proud of me. I think that you have at least said that before. Well not directly to me as that has never been your style. But your friends and some of the family has mentioned it in conversation. As you get older and the everpresent reality that your tenure on Earth is coming to , as your only child – your daughter – I just need to hear you say it.

-MG

Dear Tiffany,

You are not OK. You haven't been OK for a long time now. The faster you accept it, the sooner you can move forward and get the help you need.

Standing at the threshold of your 28th year is the time where you should be taking a look around and figuring out your options.

While no one expects you to put the rest of your life together you should have some idea of where you're headed and some way of getting there.

Thus far, life has been fairly easy for you. You've managed to meet all the goals you set as a clueless teenager from Podunk, North Carolina.

While most people would see being the first in your family to graduate from college, doing it early, working in your career field and managing to break the family cycle of children out of wedlock, you have managed to convince yourself that you are a failure.

You've taken life's little setbacks and turned them into valleys so deep that light can't get through.

Thus far, you've been able to compartmentalize and shake off depression in order to complete minimal tasks. But as of late, you lack of focus, inability to concentrate and unwillingness to leave your bed on weekends and face it, some weekdays, has started to frighten your family, your friends and most of all yourself.

Depression is an evil bitch that you don't have to fight alone. All you have to do is ask for help. If not for your family and friends, do it for yourself. They don't deserve to watch you suffer and neither do you.

How many more days can you go without making eye contact with yourself in the mirror? How many more nights can you go with only two hours of sleep, if you get any at all?

I'm begging you, please, talk to somebody. This time, don't just make the appointment with the therapist, go. Hell, go early. You're fucking up and this ain't you. #fixit

Love,
Yourself

Dude,

I have this 34 year old stigma that has sorta disallowed me to accept that someone could actually like me. It's one of those things I could blame my mother for (one of the many, MANY things I could blame her for) but I figure that since I'm in my mid-thirties that I should really take responsibility for fixing it. And I really want to believe you're interested in me ... LAWD, I really want to. But the signs aren't nearly as blatant as I need them.

Blatant - you know, like you screaming at me about 2 inches from my face, "I LIKE YOU!" That's the blatant I need. And you're clearly not giving me blatant.

And the reason I want to know is because I'm crushing on you something awful. I can't even be bothered ... with myself! I'm totally stupid about it and the time we spend hanging out is such bitter-sweetness. Sweet because ... well, it's ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. And bitter because ... your'e not fucking giving me blatant.

I've been advised to take it slow and enjoy the ride. That, sir - has never been me. Slow does NOT equal enjoy the ride. Slow = meplayingheadgameswithmyselfoverwhetherornotyoulikeme. And hence this letter. That you'll never see.

Never.

Because my neuroses are splattered all over this here place like I'm a windshield and it's washer fluid. Sure - it wipes off, but it's always there, on the fringes. So, you seriously can't know ...

... that I laugh uproariously on the inside at every funny thing you say - and that it takes my mustering every ounce of *whateverthehellitisIuse* not to literally ROTFL with each joke

... that I pathetically check my cell phone throughout the day JUST in case you sent me a text I missed

... that I ponder seriously how to respond when you DO text - and I often times have a few drafts before I actually hit send.

... that I seriously almost throttled that other dude that was hitting on you right there in front of me and God and EVERYBODY. Or that I seriously despise him now and there's not hope for his crossing over into the friend zone. ever.

... that I keep a mental list of the things I'd buy you if we ever WERE an item.


And you really can't know that I'm not fixated on sex - it's you. The way you carry yourself. The way you speak. It's your worldview and your sense of humor ... your dedication to a goal. The person that is you attracts me ... and it feels like I'm being sucked into a vortex.

But you best believe I'm going to continue to be easy, cool and not-crazy-like whenever we spend time together. Because, dare I say it, even if you aren't feeling me at all ... It's cool that I know you and that we get to be boys. Even if we're not (marriedlivingtogehterinahugehousewithanenormouslawnandawhitepicketfence) an item.

-me