Papa,
Our world is at a pivotal moment in time. As I look around and try to absorb, to process what the future may hold, I find myself overwhelmed. By frustration, of course. By fear, sometimes. By mistrust of those with whom I put my faith in to fight for justice, too often. But mostly, by gratitude.
Gratitude that I was raised by a man who doesn’t idle languidly in his unending privilege, but uses it to the betterment of others. Gratitude that the confidence he possessed was never presented to his daughters as a result of that privilege, and as such unattainable for them. And gratitude that I am a citizen of a country that grants me a platform from which to express my feelings. Even if they are just a simple thank you.
So, thank you.
For inspiring those who bear witness to your privilege, and for having the humility to see that it was given to you, not earned, I thank you.
For demonstrating inclusivity towards and responsibility for your neighbors. For believing we are each other’s keepers and demanding more than apathy from your children, I thank you.
For protecting me and not possessing me. For protecting me by not possessing me. For teaching me to think for myself but to seek guidance from those whose views I trust and ask questions of those whose beliefs I don’t understand, I thank you.
For welcoming laughter and tears, and for teaching me that the former is sometimes cruel and the latter is never shameful, I thank you.
For telling me I was beautiful every day and making it clear that you meant my spirit, my heart, my resilience, and my anger. For not tying my beauty to worldly aesthetics, which seem omnipotent but are so finite, I thank you.
For loving and respecting my mother. For seeing her power and how its ferocity did not limit, but bolstered your own. For never shirking your experience as the only man in a house of four women. For not sighing in resignation and weakly smiling at men who joked about your imprisonment in your own home. For clearly and kindly explaining that it was an honor to be a husband and father, not a duty to begrudge, I thank you.
For recognizing that simply because you are one man who loves one woman, does not mean that is the right way or the only way to love, I thank you.
For raising queens, not princesses – but understanding if sometimes we thought being a princess might be easier. For realizing that you could not empower us, but instead pushing us to find the importance of empowering ourselves, I thank you.
For expressing your relentless love and boundless wonder at my achievements, no matter how small. For wondering not at my ability to achieve them, but at your privilege to witness them, I thank you.
For instilling in me the truth that there will always be those who are greater than me and lesser than me. For helping me to understand that if I am the greater it is my duty to teach, and if I am the lesser it is my duty to learn. And for not only repeating but believing that never, ever is someone the lesser based upon their body, their color, their sexuality, their religion, their “otherness,” I thank you.
For teaching me not to ask “either or” but to fight for “both and.” For understanding that as a man, providing for your family meant so much more than fiscal contributions, even when it took everything you had to continue to give. For using each moment as one to provide me with knowledge that I could use to my advantage, even when it would have been easier to close your eyes and say “I don’t know” than to keep them open to help me understand the world and its many injustices, I thank you.
For showing me that it is okay to ask for help, to need to rely on someone else, and that weakness takes hold only when one falls prey to self-judgment, inhibiting them from seeking that help and reliance, I thank you.
For inspiring. For demonstrating. For protecting. For welcoming. For telling. For loving. For recognizing. For raising. For expressing. For instilling. For teaching. For showing.
And for forgiving, now, my demand that you fight harder.
I thank you.