False Starts

The Letter. Capital T. Capital L. You know, the one in which you introduce yourself; the one in which the long-lost bastard comes home. That Letter. I didn’t write one to my mother; I had the search agency mediate for me. The reunion with her went so well, I decided to forego the mediation, and the related fee, and contact my father directly. 

Here are a couple of the false starts — drafts I wrote to keep my sanity and help me work my way towards the real deal. As you read, keep in my that I never intended to send either of these. And I’ve changed his name. I’ll save the letter I actually sent for another post. And more serious thoughts on the writing of it for still another.  Enjoy.

Dear Hamish,

By now you’ll be feeling confident you’ve that you’ve made a clean getaway. If what you did had been a crime, you’d have passed the statue of limitations five times. You’d be coasting by now. If I’d been an embezzlement scheme or a bank robbery, you’d be tossing the money around freely by now, footloose and fancy free and pretty damn sure that it’s never going to catch up with you…

 

Dear Hamish,

I am your daughter.

You are my father.

We have missed each other for 39 years.

Can we meet?

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