my mother told me when my father was dying With morphine pumping through his veins he reached out and touched her thinking she was his dog petting her for a minute or two even in death he couldn’t love right when he died it was the best day of my life not because I’m cruel but because the weight on my chest finally cracked open I walked into the woods and prayed don’t let me hate him anymore that heaviness blew away like moldy smoke the sun was brutal and bright burning off my tears not sadness just relief for something new something nameless I skipped his funeral didn’t need goodbye I knew his story better than anyone the bruised little boy scared shitless but hungry raised in an orphanage fed on anger and survival dreaming of tuxedos and respect his dream came true like a miracle a nobody turned hero my father the diplomat the sharp-dressed attorney who learned manners and mercy but when he died it was the best day I ever had I hugged myself forgiving that boy he always looked at me like I disappointed him shoved me into macho training fixing my voice my hands my walk I came home from ballet once dancing on the couch he said stop you’ll turn into a faggot so he signed me up for rowing till I almost drowned and that saved me from becoming him only then did he ease up I’m still clawing for proof he loved me even a scrap like when he taught me to use chopsticks or took me to the opera every month sitting in a private box drowning in Verdi and Puccini but there he was happy showing off that proud orphan boy was it for me or him I’ll never know I counted sixteen minutes of something like love but twenty years is ten million minutes of chances I got twenty years of hurt minus sixteen minutes of love too late too little yes he made the world’s best scrambled eggs and I make them the same now sprinkling Hungarian red paprika slow hoping to feel something for him but usually it’s nothing and the worst part isn’t the hate it’s the emptiness I unlove him I unhate him then I eat the eggs and move on he was a broken man who didn’t know how to love or didn’t have much to give I never visited his grave but he said men don’t kiss now I kiss whoever I want as a kid I imagined going to Auschwitz to compare my daddy issues suddenly they felt small and stupid my cheap way of coping yes my father could’ve been great but my memories rot in the ashtray when hope dies the truth wins he was exactly what he was and when he died it was the best day of my life