Dear Father.
Dear Father,
When I met you for the first time, I was so happy and disappointed.
Don’t get me wrong, after many years of questioning your existence, I wasn’t excited to meet you.
I was happy - no - grateful, that I didn’t look anything like you. I was grateful for my mother’s genes. People from my extended family called me Bukky Kekere (Small Bukky). I mean, who doesn’t enjoy being her very attractive mother’s clone?
I was disappointed, because, who, in their right frame of mind, would want to have a child for you? You aren’t lucky to be one of good looking people that exist, and a couple of times, I have wondered what led to my procreation. My conclusion? You used jazz.
One thing I know for sure, is that I don’t know you, the same way you do not know me. All we have of each other are perceptions, and this is the kind person I have perceived you to be.
You say you’re a father of four, excluding myself. I was never in the picture, only on rare occasions when I desperately needed cash. How does it feel, knowing you have a part of you, your first living fertilized spermatozoa, existing somewhere on the earth, and you might as well care less? It’s not like you don’t have more than enough mouths to feed, so I don’t blame you.
In every story, there’s a bad guy. However, I choose to be the villain here.
I’m sorry I scared you away. It must have been really hard for you to be there for me, while having kids like you had enough semen to go round.
I’m sorry you expect me to repay you for your “kind deeds”. Once in a while, you’d do things for me, like sending me 10k, and you come with demands like calling your parents. I’m sorry. I was a bit overwhelmed with my own life, to care less if your parents are alive or dead.
I’m sorry I don’t pick your calls at odd hours of the night. I hate phone calls, and I especially do not look forward to conversations with you anymore. The child desperate for her father’s love, died 10 years ago.
I’m sorry I have issues calling someone else’s son “Daddy”. Believe me, I swore I’d never do such, but Kim Kardashian is dating Pete Davidson, so anything is possible under the sun. However, in the heat of passion, I can’t help but remember how I saved that word for you. The few times I tried calling you Daddy, my mouth felt really dry and sour, so I hope you don’t mind me addressing you as “Sir” till the day one of us dies.
I’m sorry for putting you in positions to make fake promises. I’m sorry for making you pretend like you care. It must be really tasking, and I wish I could let you go, and save you the stress. I’m sorry I only reach out to you when I’m dead broke, it has become a habit, one I hope to get rid of, as soon as I can.
I’m sorry my mother hates you. I’m sorry she doesn’t understand that you needed to run away and never return, after she carried and birthed your child. She didn’t have to, but unlike you, she has never been a coward.
I’m sorry, because I inherited your cowardness. I’m always walking on eggshells, waiting for the next bomb to explode. I’m always looking for ways to escape, maybe that’s why I’m writing this letter. To garner sympathy from strangers and express my unending love for you.
I’m sorry if this letter meets you. It isn’t supposed to, but this is just a good sob story, and I’m perfect at emotional blackmail, just like you are.
Yours, in total abandonment,
Oluwatumininu.
