I Meant To Tell You...
A letter to my father
It’s a Sunday in Paris. I have been here a little over two years now. I sometimes remember how surprised and impressed you were that I wanted to move here after Jen died. You, more than anyone, seemed to understand that I was adrift and needed something, anything, to steer by.
And Paris seemed like a good idea. You tried to help, but money was always tight.
So I changed course and joined the Air Force. And honestly, could you really see me sticking with Disney for any length of time? That insufferable little twat mouse and all his annoying friends; and so many children. So I went to Texas for six weeks instead.
But your boy did eventually make it to Paris. With the help - honestly, because of - a beautiful woman who somehow celebrates those parts of me that I have always felt I had to hide away. I’ll tell you all about her in another letter.
Within days of arriving in Paris one of your other sons showed up for a visit. We’d barely had time to put towels in the guest room when A- showed up with his little minion.
Dad, you should see her. Your granddaughter has the beautiful oval face of a Mexica warrior. She is fierce like one, too. Maybe a bit too surly for my brother’s liking, but she reminds me a lot of me. She’s a young girl with an old soul.
Nobody is born with an old soul. ‘Old soul’ is one of those misnomers that hides the reality; she grew up fast because she had to. My niece is being forced to grow up without a mama. A kid needs their mama and when they are forced to go without a part of them breaks and never heals quite right.
You saw that with me and I could see it immediately with her. This amazing little girl was carrying a burden without the ability to really articulate that so someone might help just a little. I tried to be for her what I needed at her age. We had one of the best talks, ironically enough, at Disney. Waiting for A- and my wife to get through one of those horrible rides that drops you so suddenly your stomach is still a few stories above you when you land. We sat - I on a bench and her on the ground - and talked about so many things.
My amazing niece let me in ever so slightly and I saw it.
I saw the broken bits and the beauty.
I wanted to scoop her up and assure her that it will all be better one day, but the more she talked the more I heard my wife remind me that sometimes a woman doesn’t need a man to fix anything, she just needs him to shut up and listen. So I got down on the ground with her and did just that.
Honestly dad, I caught myself hoping the other two would be in line for hours and hours. There is a part of me that is always going to live in that moment. She talked about, well, things that are hers to share so I will only say she gave me a part of herself that I cherish more than a thing that can be bought in any store. Even a Parisian store.
Throughout their time visiting - and especially after that little conversation I started to notice something beautiful.
I noticed that your son and your granddaughter are the best of you.
Don’t come at me with your, “I love all my kids equally,” bullshit. This isn’t that; this isn’t about quantity.
My baby brother is the father you would want any of us to be. He is the man who exceeds the lot of us. I watch him with my niece and think, “my god, he doesn’t even realize how good he is. He just thinks he’s doing what he’s supposed to and nothing more.” So many parents can’t even be bothered to do the minimum and here is your son creating a world for your granddaughter to thrive in.
And in the time since they’ve visited I have watched your granddaughter take flight and find her wings and her voice. You would be so amazed by her. My baby brother - your son - is raising a warrior queen and I wish you could see it.
I wish you could stand on the periphery with me and, from time to time, put a hand on A-’s shoulder and whisper, “I am so proud of you, of the man that you are, of the father you’ve become.”
this is truly beautiful