Tuesday, August 18, 2015

My Darling R...

My Darling R.,

You aren't born yet, but the world is already too hard for you. You have no idea what it took for your mother to carry you to term, what she had to give up in order that you would be here with us today. You are our promise of immortality, because in you we see the future clearer than we can see the past.

In many ways you are lucky. There won't be a shags for you to go to. (I wonder if your generation will call it shags.) So your mum and I won't be keeping cows or goats for you to milk and tend to. Maybe chickens, but not even your mum thinks I am cut out for the rustic life. Your grandpa has a farm, but don't tell him I said this, but his farm is more an idea than a real farm. As soon as he is done making the farm what it is, he will happily spend time with you at the Village Market or the Two Rivers Mall. 

Your grandma is definitely not a farmer and she will spend all her time with you on the beach reading Virginia Wolfe and filling your pretty head with terrible ideas about romance of a bygone age.

You will go to school - all the way to the end. You will play sports, if you want, or a play music, if your heart's in it. You will travel farther than your mother and I could ever manage. You will meet more people and speak more languages than you can shake a stick at. And in all this, your mother and I will not stand in your way or doubt that you can't do what you set you mind to do. They say, If you build it, they will come. You will build a mighty empire, my child, and the world will be your subject.

But yours will also be a hard life. We won't leave you much of a legacy. (The government will have grabbed most of it in the name of "inheritance taxes.") You will read a great deal about women empowerment, but all that is bullshit. They won't let you win like a man, which is a rather stupid thing when you think about it. They will demand that you must be graceful when you triumph, meek when you succeed, silent when you're proven right. Stuff all that. I want you to YouTube Serena Williams. When you conquer them all, I want you to do so while dominating the way she does, do you hear me my child? Nothing good will come from your acting weak. Nothing good at all.

But where they will surely never forgive you is in your sexual agency. Don't freak out that your father is writing to you about sex; no one else, bar maybe your mum, will. Your teachers are afraid that I might bight their heads off if they talk to you about it. You pastor is an idiot and he will mumble some rubbish about the bible and morality. Your friends are morons. Playboy, Hustler, Penthouse, whatever are not proper places to learn about sex. And I bought this shotgun so that your boyfriend learns that there are consequences to making wrong decisions.

Anyway, never be ashamed of who you are and what you want. Always protect yourself from hurt - both physical and emotional. If you doubt anything, ask your mum or I. If you fear for your life or your safety - run. Run home if you must. But run. No man - not even me - has a right to tell you what you can and cannot do with your body. It's your temple. Your mum and I will offer you the best advise we can. We will give you access to the best counsellors and advisors we can. But we will not dictate what you can and cannot do. And we will always stand by you, no matter what. You are our child. We will never abandon you.

I know that you will be many things to many people, but you will always be my child. You will have many hopes, and you will fear many outcomes. You will surpass your hopes and you will overcome your fears. You will build something truly great. Even if I don't get to see it - just as I can't see you now - doesn't mean that it isn't true.

All my love,

Dad.

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