For all intense purposes
you should hate me
because I wouldn’t listen
didn’t try to understand
why you wanted to take us away
from our mother’s hands.

I was thirteen,
but growing up so fast,
it felt like I was thirty,
and you wanted a divorce
from my mother
and to take us back
to your hometown.

I didn’t see
that Mom abused us
with her harsh words,
that she slapped my brother
with golden rings on
like brass knuckle punches
to the face.
That she abused the drugs
given to her to stave away
her seizures, kidney failure,
blood clots, constant pain.

I refused to see the bad
because she was my mother
who played videogames with us
on the multicolored living room rug
and let us stay up late
to watch television shows.
Who scrounged to make us cakes
on our snow day birthdays
and did her best to be
at all school events.

Who sat with me in her lap
and sang me her sweet lullaby
every time I needed to cry.

So I hated you instead
for trying to make us leave,
for ruining our family.
I did my best to hurt you
the way you were hurting me
and I said words to you
that ensured you’d shed tears.

Fast forward through the years
and I see now
what I didn’t see then
thanks to therapy
putting things into perspective,
and I realize what I did to you
was hurtful and unjust
because at the end of the day
all you did was care about us
and tried to save us from abuse
that I did not see, refused.

For all intense purposes,
you should hate me,
but when I called you today
to wish you Happy Father’s Day
you smiled, said thank you,
asked me about my plans
and at the end of the call
you said, “I love you!”
and in that moment
I was glad to have you
as my dad.