To The Man Who Thinks He Is My Father Figure
By Rachel Chisham
Congratulations Hairy Troll, you’ve known me 14 years and have managed to not teach me a single thing. Actually that’s not true. I have learned some things. You taught me that laziness is the key to success. You’ve exemplified how sitting on your ass all day probably getting bed sores and eating until there are enough crumbs in my couch to feed a small village has gotten you to, or should I say my mother, a living room to clean and a sink full of dishes to be washed. You’ve taught me that amateurly playing guitar and sounding like a tone-deaf walrus can distract almost any lady from your swampy sweat smell and offensive unfunny sense of humor. Best of all you’ve taught me that my mother could have done so much better but somehow you convinced her she couldn’t. The best she could get was a 250 lb prediabetic baby with more hair in the crack of his ass than an infant Chewbacca. I don’t blame you for choosing my mother. She’s been a single mom of my sister, lost her own sister, manage to send my sibling off to college, buy her own house, and retire before she turned 60. A miraculous woman she is, the only problem is she doesn’t know it. She doesn’t remember the constant neglect you showed me, never letting me in the kitchen, preferring to take a 4 hour nap than help me with my homework but now that I think of it, you probably weren’t and still aren’t smarter than a 5th grader. You wanted to control everything when you couldn’t even manage your own life. Always saying you’d stop smoking, cigarettes at least. I do appreciate your timing when you decided to swoop back into our lives, right when my mother was most vulnerable, right when my mother was about to lose her own, right when I realized I was about to lose mine. She said you changed, that you were sorry for your mistakes and that I had to forgive you. Thanks but no thanks, I already have a dad.