Jersey Road

Back in May, I said that I hated Mother’s Day. The same feelings hold true for Father’s Day as well. My father is (and never was) a part of my life. But what kills me is that he remained a part of his other kids’ lives. I won’t lie; I resent that. A lot. I felt ignored, unwanted, and unloved. I know that at this stage, I should expect nothing from the damn sperm donor, but I do have one question. Why didn’t you want anything to do with me? What did I do to you?

“A great change is at hand, and our task, our obligation, is to make that revolution, that change, peaceful and constructive for all. Those who do nothing are inviting shame, as well as violence. But those who act boldly are recognizing right, as well as reality.”

Fifty years ago today, John Fitzgerald Kennedy said those remarkable words, just as Byron de la Beckwith put a bullet through the back of Medgar Evers in Mississippi that same night. And five decades later, those words still ring true, maybe even more so. Especially in light of the eviction of Istanbul’s Taksim Square. While I write these words from the comfort of a library half a world away, I think about how we all have the opportunity to act boldly in spite of popular opinion. Whether it’s abortion, the environment, LGBT rights, or capital punishment, keeping quiet should never be an option.

I have to be honest. I hate Mothers’s Day. Father’s Day, for that matter, too. I know, I know. Honor thy mother and father, thy days will be longer. But why should I honor a man who walked out on me when I was a baby and a woman who told me on more than one occasion that I should have been born dead (yes, those were her exact words)? That hardly seems fair. Yes, that woman sent me to good schools, but that’s about all she did for me. She never abused alcohol, because she was too busy abusing me, verbally, physically, and even sexually. To those reading this and are quick to defend or dismiss this entry, I ask, How many of you lived in that house? Don’t worry, I’ll wait.