This is a rough post. Normally, I write a draft, then spend an hour or so cleaning it up so it’s fit to read. But this one … well, it started out as a letter to the online advice columnist at The Rumpus, Sugar. It might still be eventually. I decided to share it here because I think I was able to get at the issues a little better than usual, and I’m afraid that if I clean it up, I’ll wind up cutting something that needs to be here. If the post sounds like I’m overwhelmed, believe me, I am, and I simply cannot believe I let it go on and on to even reach this point, and that I’m still doing so. I feel like I’m mired in a tar pit, which can actually be kind of comfortable if you don’t think about it much and don’t struggle against it.
Let me just add that Father’s Day has been damned awkward since I was eight years old, and in all the intervening years it hasn’t gotten any better. Then again, Mother’s Day was so much fun this year, why should I expect anything different?
