A letter to my dad

This is almost two weeks late. I meant to post this on my dad’s actual birthday, April 14th, and then again last week, but here I am. 

I’ve been struggling with a bit of a procrastination problem recently and would sign myself up for the local procrastinators anonymous group if there were such a thing, but alas I’ve had to settle for yoga, another goal I’ve been putting on the back burner lately. 

At the start of one particular class this last Saturday morning, the teacher said something that I don’t think I’ve ever heard another yoga teacher or workout instructor say. After someone expressed their worry that they were going to be late to class, the teacher said that he loved it when people show up late. It’s one of his favorite things when people walk in late to class because it means they didn’t give up. They still showed up past the point where they could’ve easily bailed. 

So in spirit of that, here I am, writing a belated birthday letter for my dad a little late but still showing up. 

Anyone who knows me knows that my dad and I are pretty close. I’m the youngest of 3 and the only girl, so part of this seems inevitable, but I think the fact that my parents got divorced around the time when I was 4 also had something to do with it. During time I wasn’t with my mom, my dad had to try his best to function as both parents and I had to try my best to adapt. In a lot of ways I felt like we were peers, thrown in the deep end and learning together as went along. 

My dad became my partner and crime, a best friend, and a confidant I can go to when things aren’t going well. 

The plan was to write and publish a special birthday letter on his birthday while we were celebrating his birthday in Oaxaca. I thought a tropical beach vacation would provide the perfect inspiration. The sand, the waves, all of that, but no, Oaxaca had other plans. In fact, it crushed all inspiration and I don’t think I’ll go back. That’s a story I’ll get to another time though. I’ll just say we have a new family saying that came from my repeated exclamation of “I’m glad we did it!” after a long day. 

So I know I’m a little (a lot) late with this entry and the season of the bull passed a week ago, but I’m taking the stance of better late than never. I hope it makes up, at least a little bit, for the horrible duck liver dinner we had on his birthday. I also hope that maybe you enjoy reading it too. 

Dear Dad, 

I’ve written you a lot of cards and a lot of letters over the years and want to maintain some sort of originality here. Sure, I have a problem with procrastination and overthinking sometimes, but I also wanted to write you something that hasn’t been said before. 

I could say that I love you, that I’m grateful for you, that you are the best dad ever, and that you better take care of yourself because I need you around for a long time. All of this is true. You are all of these things and more and I love you very very much. 

But there’s something else I want to say. And that is that I think you may have ruined me. 

What?

Now I know the word ruin has a negative connotation to it but I want you to keep an open mind and remember that I personally love historical ruins. To ruin is not necessarily negative in nature, but simply means a collapse, a rushing down, a tumbling. It sets in motion a profound change and a destruction of something that can’t be replaced by the same thing that it was before. 

It’s not bad and I’ll explain further. 

The thing is is that I’ve always known you were different than other dads. I know every kid says that their dad is the best and that their dad is different, which okay, but I’ve always known you were different than other men outside of you being my dad. 

I don’t say this in an idolizing way. I was confronted with the hard truth that my parents are just people a long time ago. You are not perfect, and while I am biased and look up to you very much, I don’t think I have some grand illusion about you. 

But the truth, or at least my truth and the truth of a lot of people that have met you, is that you are not the type of guy that one comes across often. You are like a character from a book that people can’t help but like. 

You are charming and funny and have the ability to sit down and talk to anyone and make them feel at home. That in and of itself is a skill that a lot of people don’t have. But it’s not just that.

As I’ve gotten older and encountered more types of people, I’ve realized some things. You can find the charming and funny guy in other places. It’s a dying breed, sure, but you can meet them in bars or in an Uber. I met a few at some fraternity parties in college and been fooled before.

The thing is, though, is that while you can find another funny and charming guy, it’s not real. Maybe it’s just been my experience, but the charming and funny guy is often a deceptive mask for the man who feels the need to prove, or who may not be able to regulate his own emotions, or who may even be a narcissist. I don’t say this with judgment, but as a remark that the charming and funny guys who are in it for a reaction, from a place of ego satisfaction, make up a large chunk of this personality type.

There are rarely just charming and funny guys. Guys living in a healthy expression of the masculine maybe?

But you, Dad, are different. You are witty and funny and adventurous, but the reason you feel different than most of these other guys is because it isn’t ego with you. Well, maybe after a few drinks, but for the most part none of it is a charade that comes from ego or insecurity. You aren’t doing any of it from a place of trying to convince anyone and you certainly aren’t a follower and trying to be cool. You simply show up as yourself, barefoot and with a smile on your face and with a heart that is open and kind.

There are lots (well some) men that are funny and charming, usually with a big ego, and there are also good men with big hearts, but I honestly have not met anyone else like you that has both to the degree that you do. In some ways, this has made it difficult for me to spot the inauthentic ones, and it’s also set an expectation that is hard to meet.

You haven’t just set the bar in that aspect.

Hearing stories about you traversing the globe in your 20’s, opening restaurants abroad, taking chances, and having crazy adventures have formed such strong mental images in my mind. These are yearnings that I feel have been transferred to me.

I’m a bit more risk averse than you and a much bigger planner, but how could I be satisfied with the corporate ladder being surrounded by that? How could I not want to open a business one day?

You have taught me to dream, to explore and have adventures. You have taught to have an openness for other people that goes beyond stereotypes. You have taught me to trust my gut and get in over my head and figure it out as I go along.

So, yes, I think you have ruined me. You have ruined any expectation for dealing with charming but unkind people and any illusion of a mediocre life. Thank God!

There’s a famous quote by Oscar Wilde that says “To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all”. Most people are just existing because they’re just following the path that was laid out in front of them, but I was raised by someone who ruined and destroyed the path in a lot of ways, especially when they were young, in effort of adventure, authenticity, and truly living life.

I am at a phase in my life where I look around me and know I don’t want the life I see other girls working towards. I don’t want their path. I’ve tried to force myself into it, but I don’t think I really had a chance with you as my dad and a best friend. You destroyed the path so I can build my own, wiped the slate clean so something new and fitting can be built by me instead.

By being your daughter, I witness a type of wonderful person that is rare in the world.

So thank you for teaching me how to live. To live is the biggest gift in the world.

I’m sorry this is veryyyyy late but Happy Birthday Dad!

I love you,

Zoe