Free Donut

Thank you all for coming to remember my dad. 

If he could, he’d jump out of this casket and ask everyone for a hug.

He’d stand up here and joke that being dead isn’t lively enough- 

that he missed the frenzy of our growing family. 

We would share stories all night. This is the one I’m here to tell. 

 

When I was nine, I sprouted a passion for video games. 

We had a dated, dial-up, absolute mess of a computer, but to me, 

it was a wonder that could produce entire worlds at the keystrokes of my fingers. 

My dad was a stranger to computers.

 He could build a motorcycle, but couldn’t email. 

He looked at the technology with confusion and insecurity. 

But after seeing how excited i got- how drawn I was to gaming- he changed. 

He asked questions. Some times, he’d even sit with me.

 

“Video games are educational” I said. (Hey it worked with Guitar Hero). 

All year, he saw me navigate through the internet. 

Our shitty Dell was my deep-space starship. 

On my tenth birthday, my dad had me wear a blindfold, 

and surprised me with computer parts. 

I did what any geeky ten year old would: squealed, jumped in delight, 

and gave my dad a tight hug. He said, ‘We can build it together”

 

He understood me. Whenever I was upset, he had eyes that listened;

 ears that felt, and hands that witnessed. I loved him… 

That was my happy funeral story, and not a word of it was true. 

Instead, I had an abusive, alcoholic father, whose version of ‘respect’

was actually obedience. He’d threaten us preemptively with 

“You really wanna piss me off?” He gave rage and apathy, not warmth. 

 

My dad had a toolkit of weapons to use against my mom, siblings and I: 

physically, there was his whack, belt, boot, wooden spoon, 

punch, hair yank… Emotionally: threat, berate, guilt trip, 

humiliate, gas-light, isolate… He spent decades of his life 

trading our well-being for a facade of control. We eventually left him. 

He was so delusional he played victim, and went off the rails

when we didn’t let him manipulate us.

 

He chose to never outgrow his cruelty, and reaped our absence. 

Now he’s dead. On the way here, I stopped for a donut. 

The woman behind the counter asked me: “are you having a great day?”

 Not “how’s your day today?”… but “Are you having a great day?” 

I said ‘No, my dad died.” She burst into tears. 

Of course, she didn’t know how awful he was, 

but I saw compassion in her. She gave me a free donut. 

No one told me you get a free donut when your dad dies. 

That stranger saw me, and showed me more humanity

than my dad did his entire life. 

I’m not grieving him: I have been wishing my dad gone 

since I was six years old… I’m grieving the dad I didn’t have.

A sliver of that fake birthday story wasn’t too much to ask for. 

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