You may not remember me, but I remember you. It was many years ago, I’m sure you were not then the man you are now, but you hurt me, you violated me, in a way I hope your daughters never have to experience. But reliving it or reminding you of that moment is not the purpose of this letter.
We were both different people back then. You were a jerk. Perhaps you were just a product of your raising, maybe your father treated your mother the way you treated me, and you hadn’t yet learned that it was wrong. I don’t know, but I don’t want to carry hate in my heart, even though you deserve it. I was a different person too, I was meek, and frightened. I don’t know if you saw me as someone you could easily take advantage of, I just don’t know, but I’m not going to waste my energy trying to figure it out.
That moment doesn’t define the person that I am today. I’ve grown over the years, I’ve matured, I’ve changed. I’m sure the same is true for you. I truly just want to continue living my life without ever seeing or hearing about you, or reflecting back on our moment.
So I have a deal for you: if I never see your face or hear your name again, you’ll never hear mine. For my part, this is my preference. But if you dare show up on my TV screen, marketing yourself as some great, upstanding, trustworthy guy, if I have to read about you in the newspaper, hear your name on the radio, if I am reminded of your existence in any way, you’ll hear my name and see my face. And the story I tell won’t help the persona you’re trying to sell.
We cool with that?