You know I love you. You’re one of the most important people in my life. And I’ve always been quietly grateful to your dad. But today something broke.

At the airport, when my sister told me she and her boyfriend couldn’t come pick us up, and then I heard you asking your parents to come, I really appreciated it. But the second we got outside and your dad pulled up, he launched into this rant about his foot, then immediately turned to me and snapped something like, “Couldn’t your dad come pick you up?”. That came out of nowhere and he didn’t stop there. He kept being rude for no reason. And what hit me the most was: this is a grown man. A man in his fifties, talking to me like I’m a burden for needing a ride. I wouldn’t have even minded if, once we got home, he vented to you privately. I get it, my dad isn’t the most present with practical stuff, and people need to let stuff out. But he didn’t wait. He came for me directly.

Then, when we were nearing my street, I told him I’d just cross the road so he wouldn’t have to turn around. And he said, with this mocking, almost mean tone: “Oh no, don’t worry, I’ll bring you to your doorstep directly!” (actually thinking about it it’s pretty funny, I know that he knew that he had to say something humiliating one last time before I got out). I said “thank you, bye bye”, went upstairs, got in the shower, and cried. Hard.

I know we’ve all kind of accepted that your dad drinks too much. I know he suffered a lot in the past with his brother’s death. We’ve seen it. We never said it out loud. But tonight I couldn’t unsee it. 

I’m not saying this to make things weird between us. I’m saying it because tonight made me lose a kind of quiet respect I used to hold. And because pretending it didn’t happen would just hurt more.

That’s it.