playground therapy.

“You better start swimming or you’ll sink like a stone.”


I remember the time, the one and only time you came home drunk. Your face was red. The rest of the family finally felt the wrath and anxiety that you made me feel every day.

You raised your hand to her, and pushed her up against the counter. And even though I disliked her I was the one to start screaming. Stop. Then they left you in the middle of the night. Not only did they leave you, they left me with you.

It was the only time I can remember that you showed me affection. You were so scared of being left. And I felt it. You told me I was beautiful. You held me close and kissed my hair. Your arms were like a vice. But for years and years without your love. I didn’t mind. I didn’t want them to come back. I wanted to move away with you and pretend to be a new family.

I wanted us to be a quirky family sitcom.
But they already had one of those.

It starred Tony Danza.

And I want to tell you that I think about you everyday. And I want to tell you that I’m a lot like you in so many ways.

I talk about you when I talk about music. And I wanted you to know that when I turned 22, my hair turned red.

I’ll be 28 next month, and I forget I forget how the story goes.

I’ve thought about how you loved to read and write. How you wanted to be an English professor. How When you figured something out like a child, you quickly took the project and became a genius. I’ve thought about the mechanics of my DNA. How you loved your road bike, and screamed at me when I rode it after it had been stationary for 5 years.

I’ve thought about the time I gave you that black and white photo of you and your uncle. It was the 60s and you had a fresh buzz cut. He gave it to me when I was 14 in the middle of the woods while I sat in a stone chair in the middle of Massachusetts. He was hugging you and lifting you up from behind. Your feet were off the ground and you were smiling so big. Your horned rim glasses were black and big for your face. And I thought you looked beautiful. I thought that picture of you, that was the father that I wanted to come from.

And when he died and I told you and I ran to my room. That picture was my secret for years. I had it taped on the underneath of a drawer in my night stand. You were pounding on my door. Asking me what I was doing and I was nervous. You made me so nervous. I didn’t know if anything I was ever doing was the wrong thing. I slipped it under the door. And you told me to come out. It was ok. I held you in my arms while you cried. And I thought. Yes, this is a father that I could come from. That I understood.

I think that maybe you’re a little more like me. You’re so afraid.