Daddy, Happy Father’s Day, I guess.  I wish I could remember you better, but I was pretty young when you and Mommy died and then there was all that other shit between then and now that kind of blocks it out.   

I do remember bits and pieces of you two, like you always having a beer in your hand and Mommy laughing at the cat because it kept dipping it’s paw into her drink. 

I don’t remember the night you and Mommy thought it was a good idea to go “honky tonking” when you were both already drunk.  Wasn’t one of your better moves, Daddy.  I guess you paid for it, though.  That telephone pole you hit was sheared completely off.  I do remember them showing me that. 

I’m also sorry that you never got to meet my wife Suzy or your grandkids.  Probably just as well because I know in my heart, based on the rest of the homophobic, wife beating, child abusing, rapists in your family, that I was forced to live with after you two died, me being queer wouldn’t have worked too well for you. 

‘So’kay.  Suzy’s gone now, but she did teach me what love was really like and our kids are here to remind me of her.  Great kids, BTW.  Look more like their Mommy every day.  They loved their Mommy and they love me because we both cherished and nurtured them.  Go figure, huh?     

Well that’s it I suppose.  Say hi to Mommy for me if you see her.  I’ve got to go be the “Poppi” to my kids that you never were to me.  They want me to be in the kitchen with them while they make the dinner that’s part of my “Poppi’s Day” present.  Glad to do it for them because they actually love me.  

Sorry dude, but that takes one hell of a lot higher precedence over talking to your drunken, dead ass. 

Amy