The Letter

Dear Dad,

This is a hard letter to write, but I suppose it has been a long time coming. I do not know how to soften the blow for you, to cradle your fall so that you feel less pain, or to write in a tone that would signify that I am a caring, human-hearted individual. The hard, bare truth is the only thing I can come up with -- you have been replaced and I am none the worse for wear.

When you and Mom separated that fateful night -- do you remember it? -- I thought I was being torn in half. Even then, during that thunderstorm and your continuous cries in the darkness, I knew what it was like to be something other than a child. Did you know that memory has haunted me nearly every night since its occurrence? It has taken up entirely too much of my life, making it so sleep is a difficult animal to pin down. I know you will say that it is not your fault -- that Mom had been drinking again and overreacted, that she should not have changed the locks, that when you cried out to me to open the door, I should have listened to your voice and taken the wrath of her, though she lay not 10 feet from me. And perhaps you are right. But you cheated. You traded us in for something -- no, someone else. You fucked that up, even if you married Mom because she was pregnant.

And why did you tell Pua that? You think its easy to know that your dad was around an extra 9 years and created 4 more children because of his first mistake, manifested in your very own flesh and blood and bone? You think that doesn't fuck with her head? I exist because you were too much of a coward to leave in the first place. You made me a product of your cowardice. I suppose I should say 'Thank you.'

After you vacated the premises, I put you on this pedestal. I was glad to bear your name, to be called 'Junior,' or 'Keithy,' or 'Little Keith.' I defended your actions -- or lack thereof -- to everyone. Keoki and I fought constantly because of it. But do you know he was right? I still hate to say it, but it is true. I realized how you were still running.

Even from the beginning, I was to be different from them. I look like you, have a similar build, speak in a similar fashion. I am a constant reminder of your fear. Where my siblings got a Hawaiian name -- something that spoke to their character, their spirit, their heart -- I got your name instead; the name of my runaway father. When you ran off with Marie, you took my masculinity with you. I resented you a long time for it.

I was taken in at 14; you know that. I call that man 'Pops' because dad has such a negative connotation in my mind. He helped usher me into manhood where you did not try. So yes, Father, you have been replaced. I don't hate you for your mistakes, though you have shown me what it means to be a bad father. Because of you, thank God, I know what not to do.