Father’s Day is Canceled
An open letter to my dad
Hello Dad,
It’s that time of the year again when stores advertise greeting cards and gifts for father’s day; people booking up golf courses to play a round of golf with their dads. Kids are planning what kind of cake they will bake their daddy.

I thought about what I should get you this year and I came quite easily to a conclusion: absolutely nothing. You will get exactly what you have gotten last year and the year before and so on. You see dad, father’s day is canceled and has been canceled for a while. Not for all the other fathers out there who did their job being a good dad. No, only for you.
I understand that there is a fine line between being a terrible husband and a shitty father, but with you, that line has never been there. I can confidently say that you were equally a bad husband to my mom as you are a shitty dad to all your kids.
This doesn’t mean that you are a terrible person. You are easy to get along with. You have nice manners and excellent work ethics. You may wonder why I am being so harsh with you.
I know that you had such a rough time in your divorce. Who knew mom would get so angry with you cheating on her with several bimbos…I mean respectable women. 25 years of marriage is a lot to walk away from.
I was worried that you would inherit some bad karma from being a fifty-year-old guy, seeking out meaningful relationships with women in the 20’s. Lucky for you, though, cupid did come around. After meeting the “lucky girl”, you got married to her in the Philippines after one week. It’s ok that you never told me and my brother about your plans to get married to a young lady that was 2 years younger than me. Congratulations.
I am glad that you will not be lonely anymore. Being the rational person that you are this will be your second marriage without a prenup, but don’t worry, since you got married in the Philippines, you will have to adhere to their laws as divorce is not recognized there. It’s ok. She’s your soulmate. I am sure you have learned all you needed to know about each other in that one week.
Oh yeah, let’s get back to your failed parenting skills. Immediately after divorcing our mom, you wanted to start afresh with your new bride. Not only did you refuse to live anywhere near your ex, but you also wanted to reboot family life over. You packed your bags and relocated from Canada to Germany.
I remember it like yesterday when we dropped you off at the airport. You were excited to hop on that plane and leave. After leaving the airport, my mom, brother, and I cried all the way home. Not once did you think of how it would affect us. Sure, we were young adults at that time, but does that mean that we didn’t need you anymore in life?
Ten years went by and you never visited. Some phone calls here and there but you never made the effort to see your “older kids” again. I saved up a lot of my minimum-wage cashier paycheck to visit you every 2 years. The last time I visited you in Germany, your new wife was so displeased with my 2 week stay that I knew it was time to stop the effort.
Back over here in Canada, we started to adjust to life without you. Our 50-year-old mother blossomed into a kick-ass independent woman. She paid off the house mortgage within 5 years all on her own. My brother graduated from university with a bachelor’s degree and after 40 hours of lessons with a strict instructor named Amit, I learned how to drive a car.
I am not mad, that years have gone by and you haven’t visited your only grandchild. Its a little annoying that you can’t remember her name but that is one of the characteristics of being a crappy father.
“After all, when I was a kid you couldn’t remember my age, or what grade I was in. You never once hugged me and you never told me or my brother that you loved us. “
So again, something as “minor” as you forgetting your granddaughter’s name should be no surprise.
You see, being a parent is a life-long selfless commitment. Whether you like it or not, you failed as a parent, and therefore father’s day is canceled for you.
Sincerely,
the daughter from your first marriage






