Let me see if I got this right. I sent you a very thorough reply about how you've condescended, disrespected, and made a terribly hard thing even more painful, and your reply is... among other things, you're upset because I have never sent you a card?
First thing's first, let's address this card problem. I suppose you're right. I guess I was inconsiderate all those birthdays and father's days that I spent at your house to celebrate, and even brought you gifts, sometimes on my own, and sometimes split with Linda and/or David. And I guess it was horribly thoughtless of me those times when I couldn't make it to your house because of work conflicts that I called and had a nice long phone chat with you. You're right, if I was any kind of a son I would have spent a few dollars and mailed you a folded piece of paper instead of doing all that actual touchy-feely personal contact business. I forgot that you prefer paper goods to my actual presence and voice. My fault, really.
But seriously, this card business is yet another thing to add to the list of reasons why you don't really know me in any real way. I don't do cards. Ever. Other then to disguise a gift of cash or giftcard to someone, I have never given anyone a card in my life. Mom has never received a card from me. Jon has never received a card from me. This is not a thoughtless lack of action either, it is a deliberate stance. You know how seriously I take the environment. I think cards are wasteful of both paper and money. I don't need Hallmark to communicate love and affection, and I don't have a high opinion of the whole card phenomenon. I am a non-card-giver. Have you ever noticed that I have never once ever wrapped a gift to anyone either? I don't believe in it. Again: wasteful. You might think that my opinion is silly, and that might even make me a humbug, but it does not make me a careless son. Not by any stretch.
I know the first part of this letter is rife with sarcasm, but it really seems a rather unimportant thing to be harboring a grudge over, in the grand scheme of things. I wrote to you explaining how you've shoved my failure in my face when I asked for your help and you talk about greeting cards in response. The two don't line up. Just please know that I don't like that your upset, but also know that cards are not my way.
I'd like to shift gears and shift tone now. No more sarcasm, and no more snarkiness. I promise. The next bit is too important to trample over with my own feelings. I want to talk about yours.
I want to discuss the larger issue that I see. You talk about the past pretty specifically. I only peripherally mentioned it to point out that you still see me as that punk kid you threw out, and you prove me right by discussing it very defensively. You don't have to justify yourself to me any more than I need to do so to you. I didn't ask for it. Those events seem to be a bit of an open wound for you. In fact, the only thing that you're really taking exception to is a pair of quotation marks around the word forced, really. Read my original paragraph again without those quotation marks, and hopefully you'll see what I was really trying to say.
If you truly feel that I forced you to do anything, then I feel very sad for you. In fact, if you could ever believe anyone ever forced you to do anything, I feel very sad for you. Make no mistake, I'm not going to defend my sixteen year-old self. I was a huge bag of trouble for you at that age, and I did it intentionally. I am not proud of it, and I have my regrets, of course, but there it is. But if you can honestly look at those experiences and tell me that your choices and your actions weren't your own, I am sad. You talk about me needing to mature, but you seem to have missed one of life's most important lessons yourself. You feel like you were a victim back then, and you still feel that way about it. Well, nobody is ever guiltless in any conflict. That's a fact. I made my mistakes and you made yours. But what ended the situation was you giving up. Plain and simple. I became a project that didn't deserve your energy anymore, and you walked away from it. That's where that chapter ended. With your choice, not mine.
Ever since then it's felt like we're walking around in someone else's clothes. Something just doesn't fit right. Sure, we're friendly and we even have fun hanging out sometimes, but something was always slightly off between us. Something was always gnawing at the background, trying to pop through. Based on what you've said here in this dialogue and in your letter, it's abundantly clear to me what that something was. You never let go of what happened back then. That is why you still see who I was. I forgave you a long time ago for giving up on me. I let it go because it was poison and it was destroying me and my relationships with others. But whatever you felt on your side, you never forgave. You never let it go. I would put to you that you will find life is easier and happier when you start evaluating the past based on your own choices, not on those choices that other people made around you. Don't hang on to what I did and said back then and see them as things I did TO you, but look at what you did. Look at what you said. Learn from it, and move on.
That's the most valuable lesson I have ever learned, and it allows me to see my life as though I am the designer of it, not the victim of it's circumstances. I don't regret any of the experiences I've ever had, including being thrown out. I am who I am today because of everything I've been through. I wouldn't even take back that nasty car wreck if I could. I am stronger now than I ever was before because of it. So, when you talk about my teenage years as though you're still upset about what happened, that makes me very sad for you. I have my regrets about my part in it, but I've learned from it and I'm over it. And that, to me, is the purest essence of real maturity.
I admit I could be wrong about you, but I urge you to take a few days and think on it before you reply. As I said, I only obliquely mentioned that time, and you offered a full defense as though I attacked you. Read that section of my previous letter again, and you'll see what I mean about how the reference fit in to the larger thought of my paragraph. There may be more there leftover still inside you than you even realize. It happens.
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