Author: Jalen Thompson
I did not like you, but I did not hate you.
I wanted the real thing, but he was not there.
I never called you “Dad”, but you were.
You were mean, you were tough.
I was bad, always bringing notes home.
I remember the many discipline exercises you made me do:
Bear crawls, wall sits, push-ups.
Really, it was borderline abuse.
I wanted him and not you.
He would not discipline me like this or at all.
Surely he would talk to me about it instead of
bear crawls, wall sits, push-ups.
Yes, it was abuse:
That time you made me watch IT and
on the playground at school
my light blue jeans would slowly
turn into dark blue jeans.
I was afraid of you.
You found joy in disciplining me.
Yes, I did hate you.
She loved you. You loved her
and you both loved your son
and loved me too, out of obligation.
I was there, simply there.
That’s why I was always bringing notes,
to feel like I was not just there, but that I was living there too—
I guess.
It was just me and her before you
got here and she was doing fine without you.
No, they would not have gotten back together,
but I would have seen him because there was no you and
she wanted a He there for me. But I was fine with me and her.
I thought you were just a replacement.
No not even that: a place holder. But you stayed.
You were there for me, for us, me and her.
You wifed her.
She gave you a son, a real son.
I was the one you pretended to care for,
I still am, but now I don’t mind.
I understand, I do.
To be “Dad” is to be there,
and you were,
he wasn’t.
I see that now.
I see that you weren’t pretending.
I see the crawls, the wall sits, the push-ups,
The fear of you, made me, me.
Now, there is no fear,
Only respect.
Is this like Stockholm?
No, you weren’t that bad,
You were a drill sergeant.
You were “Dad”.
You are “Dad”.
And I love you, I guess.