Feb 2015
It would be so easy to say “I hate you” — but then I realize I would just be lying if I did.
I have encountered so many people throughout the course of my years, and I can declare right now that no one has ever compared to you in terms of being indifferent, careless, and unloving. (I must have gotten that from you.)
I think that’s what I’m saddened by the most.
Do you remember?
At age five, I asked you to read me a storybook. I couldn’t read Hangul at the time, and mom was at work, so I asked you. You threw the book across the room and yelled at me for being a hindrance.
At age eight, I asked you to come to school for a day because we were required to bring our fathers in to class. You never showed up, so I had to be accompanied by a counselor instead.
At age eleven, I grew to be overweight and I was made fun of by all the kids at school. I asked you for help. You told me I was an embarrassment. I lost the weight a year later, but you still didn’t give much of a ****.
At age thirteen, I got interested in cars after seeing you work as a mechanic. I asked if I could tag along. You told me I would fail at it, so you left me behind that Sunday morning.
At age seventeen, I came out to you. You struck me and refused to see me for a month.
A few weeks ago, I got accepted into three universities. I sent you a text. And you said I could have done better.
I’ll be honest. When my friends talk about their fathers, I get envious. They play sports with their dads. They wrestle together. They go to the gym together. They talk together. They watch movies together. They actually connect and that concept itself is so foreign to me.
There was only one time you ever sat down and spoke with me — and just when I thought we could connect, all you did was talk trash about my own mother in front of my face. As if you could turn her own son against her.
"I hate you." I almost wish I did. If I did, it would be so simple to cut all ties with you. But I still love my father — for what, exactly? What has my old man done to deserve any of my love? Ah… give me money? Because money buys love, right? I don’t need any of that, though. I just wanted to spend time with you. But it’s fine. I’m growing up. I don’t expect anything from you. I lived these eighteen years without you, so I don’t need you now.
If and when I become a father one day, I won’t make the same mistakes you did. If I ever do decide to have a child, I’m going to make sure they know what it’s like to have a loving father. Thanks for showing me what kind of father I shouldn’t be. You taught me that lesson, at least.
I have encountered so many people throughout the course of my years, and I can declare right now that no one has ever compared to you in terms of being indifferent, careless, and unloving. (I must have gotten that from you.)
I think that’s what I’m saddened by the most.
Do you remember?
At age five, I asked you to read me a storybook. I couldn’t read Hangul at the time, and mom was at work, so I asked you. You threw the book across the room and yelled at me for being a hindrance.
At age eight, I asked you to come to school for a day because we were required to bring our fathers in to class. You never showed up, so I had to be accompanied by a counselor instead.
At age eleven, I grew to be overweight and I was made fun of by all the kids at school. I asked you for help. You told me I was an embarrassment. I lost the weight a year later, but you still didn’t give much of a ****.
At age thirteen, I got interested in cars after seeing you work as a mechanic. I asked if I could tag along. You told me I would fail at it, so you left me behind that Sunday morning.
At age seventeen, I came out to you. You struck me and refused to see me for a month.
A few weeks ago, I got accepted into three universities. I sent you a text. And you said I could have done better.
I’ll be honest. When my friends talk about their fathers, I get envious. They play sports with their dads. They wrestle together. They go to the gym together. They talk together. They watch movies together. They actually connect and that concept itself is so foreign to me.
There was only one time you ever sat down and spoke with me — and just when I thought we could connect, all you did was talk trash about my own mother in front of my face. As if you could turn her own son against her.
"I hate you." I almost wish I did. If I did, it would be so simple to cut all ties with you. But I still love my father — for what, exactly? What has my old man done to deserve any of my love? Ah… give me money? Because money buys love, right? I don’t need any of that, though. I just wanted to spend time with you. But it’s fine. I’m growing up. I don’t expect anything from you. I lived these eighteen years without you, so I don’t need you now.
If and when I become a father one day, I won’t make the same mistakes you did. If I ever do decide to have a child, I’m going to make sure they know what it’s like to have a loving father. Thanks for showing me what kind of father I shouldn’t be. You taught me that lesson, at least.
