I didn’t vote for Donald Trump. I didn’t vote for his message, his temperament, or a validation of his base of followers. But like every American, I’m now stuck with the thin-skinned Cheeto and subsequent fallout from his election. That includes my son, and the goals I have for the kind of person he can be.
The ease with which you can guilt your significant other into on-demand massages.
You consistently fought for your life, and I never heard you complain! You were always thankful to be alive and thankful to live another day. Thank you for also molding me into a fighter, Dad.
She learned about love and relationships the hard way because she had no guidance and no example to follow. She had to learn from trial and error which is why she doesn’t always get it right because she’s still learning.
I keep my emotions warped shut tightly in the recesses of my mind, finding it hard to explain to someone this throbbing ache I have for a person who left my life prematurely.
What I want you to know Mr. Trump, is that instead of building a wall (as you so vocally want to do if elected), and starting a life with someone that bared the same skin tone, beliefs, background, and past, my father created a bridge made out of love and respect.
Fathers, when you cast a vote for Donald Trump, when you defend him online or in your homes, you tell your daughters that their safety and agency can be sacrificed, by you, on the altar of your economic or social preferences.
Sometimes I wish I could text you, call you and hear your voice, tell you that I love you.
You’re gone. You’ve been gone for a long time. But what I never expected was how my relationship with you continues to grow.
You learn to be inspired by challenges, not afraid of them.