Dear Father

This is for the 'Dear John' Competition

Dear Father,

I don’t want to call you Dad anymore; but, even the thought of your name irritates me.

You were never the father figure we needed, but once-upon-a-time, I was very much a Daddy’s girl.

You were fine for us when we were little; we had a decent childhood, but is that only because you were out of the country for work half of every month? You had a family with your first marriage, were we just to satisfy Mum? But we were always scared of your dominance and strictness; we always had to please you.

But when you retired; that’s when things got worse, things that were only your fault, no-one else’s, yours.

You were always a heavy drinker, but that didn’t matter when you were working. Then with no job you had a reason to drink constantly. That shop you stupidly opened, you didn’t stop then. You drove home that night, so drunk. I’m so ashamed. You’re lucky that poor man didn’t die, and you got out of your car unscathed and walked away. All you got was a fine and your licence took off you. Are you not ashamed as well?

No-one thought less of you.

I did.

The divorce you made difficult, you had such a plan. You are so manipulative, it scares me that I have part of your mind. Mum gave up everything just to get it over with; you made her look like a bad Mother, a lazy wife, an undeserving person, and a fool. She sat in a court room, not knowledgeable in that sort of thing, confused, while you could afford the best solicitors. You played the game beautifully, and admitted it to her face when the courtroom doors were shut.

We had to be put on the homeless list, living with Mums boyfriend, you knew her family rejected her, you used that, got her Mother on your side. And all those people you told lies about me to, you sat in the pub and bitched about me. Did I ever really beat you up? You wouldn’t even know. Did I ever really trash your house? You wouldn’t even know. Were you really actually scared of me, wanting to phone the police? You wouldn’t even know, you were always too drunk, from the minute you woke up to the second you passed out, you drunk.

No-one thought less of you.

I did.

You laughed at me, you looked down on me, you tried to intimidate me. But the worst part was, that young boy, you did it all to him too, used his friends against him, Mum’s family against us both. You would phone up Mum’s Mum and cry to her, ‘What can I do?’ you’d ask, ‘I can’t take her anymore’. Nor could I take it. Your young son would come crying in the night to me, sleep with me because he was scared of you, that isn’t right.

But we asked you to stop drinking or we would leave, you didn’t. We told you we were leaving for good, last chance, you didn’t. You fell and hurt yourself, you did then.

We are better off without you now. You didn’t want to be at my wedding, well I didn’t want you there, I paid for it myself, not you, you didn’t walk me down the aisle, the brother I looked after did.

No-one ever thought less of you.

I did.

Your daughter, no longer
Hannah