Dear Mother,

I don’t want to wait to get married or you to get sick to tell you few nitty gritty’s of me that you already know.

For every night when I cried my lungs out and pulled your hair apart, your hand over me just lessened that scare a little less. As I walked in like a rogue, with my pants dirty and hair messed up, I should have been sorry to be that stupid rebel. I let you down time and again, you remember – when I lost your favorite pen, failed that simple test, robbed that cigarette from dad’s pocket, caught drunk and got home like a wreck, and endless to count. I know you recall each of those days, and I also know you have been magically looking over me even after knowing the evil in me.

But, today I don’t want to write to you about this. I want to write to you about Dad. About the man who is this unnoticed and hidden string between us. Yes, in our busy lives we don’t talk about him often. Rather, we don’t talk to him often. Though I love and admire him for his strides, I lay hidden in your cosset. Today through your layer I want to tell him that he is the reason I have learnt to love, give, learn, respect, nurture, gather, share and care.

It’s not been the ideal house, it’s not been the ideal family, it’s not been the ideal childhood. But today I realize that the best part of being your child is that it was not ideal. We flawed as a family on many days, and stood like rock fighting the remaining. And he was that bone that did not shrivel on the hardest of blows. He yelled on days, he walked off on conversations, he was egoistic in actions – but he was a father in all moments. I know it hurts him deep inside when I confide in you more than I look at him, but I sense the content he feels when he sees both his women as one soul. As I age and make my own share of mistakes, I go back and let go of the days when I have seen him make his own. Yes, there were days I was furious on how he did not match the textbook definition of the hero father, but I know today that a father is not a hero. He is the man who is reborn through his child, who grows with his toddler and eventually resides in the soul of his baby. Now you know why he was not perfect on many days, because he is a part of me. Imperfect yet so giving and solid yet so tender.

As I lay in your nest mother, I do not know if I will ever be able to word this to him. Though I know my eyes reflect to him what I exactly feel. I am writing this to you as I want you to deliver a small message to my father: Dad, you are my fierce and salvaging pivot. I want to be all that you have dreamt of me to be. I want to be that pillar of fearlessness and strength that you can lean on. I hope this tiny message is enough to cover up for all the days I was not able to convey this: I love you dad. And yes, you are my hero.

Your baby.

– Written on the context of stories heard from daughters around the country.