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.
It wouldn’t have been right for my father to walk me down the aisle no matter what society dictates as the norm.
Date someone who doesn’t mind letting a little girl paint his nails or try to put his hair in pigtails.
Because when I drank it, I got far too angry.
At you. At the world.
Their children never know the touch of love, lullabies that bring peaceful sleeps. They roam escaping family, an absent figure.
You can’t go through life being drunk and stupid.
I feel that I was born to be a dad.