For those of you who follow Fictionalized and my various stories about my childhood (Hole in the Floorboard, Sally and the Leg of Lamb, and The Black Galoshes), I am sharing with you the letter I sent to my father today. Thanks to friends and family, I have been able to do the thing that has eluded me for decades: cutting ties with my father. I am grateful for your support.
For my many readers who have similar family traumas, know that I appreciate the stories you share. I hope you, too, find ways to make peace with your past.
Enjoying the view from the rearview mirror. — Chris
6/28/25
XXXX,
Thank you for the final check. I will let the kids know I will no longer be passing these funds on to them for their various expenses, namely cars, phones, health insurance, etc. Nearly all of the money you have been sending has gone to help them. The support you have provided since the divorce has been impactful to us and I do appreciate that. We will adjust. If I’d given my kids the childhood you gave us, I would probably handle things differently, even when feeling the pinch of disrespect from them. I would accept the anger they doled out and felt the need to express. And I would continue to help them regardless, knowing this is what happens when we don’t make good choices and do the right things for our children — when we take the easy way out. You and I — we are nothing alike, so I am not at all surprised that your generosity came with strings attached.
We arrived at this juncture because continuing to make nice with you in order to maintain financial support became untenable. I am too far along in my life to continue holding up this façade, and add to this the huge turning point in the history of our country, with changes that negatively impact my children. I can no longer keep my mouth shut. Doing so felt unbearably hypocritical. You pointed out that hypocrisy — the one true thing in your last email riddled with gaslighting. Know this: I have taken your money without regret, as there were so many bad things we endured growing up, to which you turned a blind eye. You owed us this much — financial support, in my opinion, especially Hans. I have felt no compunction in taking your money. But continuing to pretend away all of the bad stuff, as if we had some wonderful family — I no longer have any bandwidth for that. That is a heavy weight I carry with me every day. At this point I need to set it down and be done with it.
Gaslighting your way out of our real family history — that’s yours and xxxx’s schtick, tales you can repeat to each other until death do you part. The apex of that: your stint with Families Anonymous, letting people imagine your children were drug or alcohol addicts through your participation in this group. The Academy Award for gaslighting goes to the both of you on that one. That was a brilliant way to explain away our absence from your household.
XxXx, xxXX and I have our own memories of what went down, and those are tortured and ongoing. This is why we rarely see you and have limited contact. xxXX and I have spent decades in therapy and tens of thousands of dollars have gone to pay for it. Brother XxXx, what a tragedy his life has been. I cannot imagine failing a child as you did him. Never did you seek out the help he needed. You, with your doctorate and ties to education — you had the means and understanding. You knew what he needed, but you were stubborn and more concerned about what others would think than you were about the welfare of your son. I can never forgive you for that.
You could have held XxXx back a grade, as was suggested by his first grade teacher. You could have sought out a psychologist or psychiatrist. You could have gotten him a tutor. You could have sent him to a special school. You could have enrolled him in programs that would have helped him function in the real world. You could have taken him to a specialist for his many severe allergies so he could experience a reprieve from feeling sick. Over the years, the two of you have spared no expense whatsoever on your own health, what with your many trips to Mayo Clinic and Indiana University Medical Campus in Indianapolis. Only the best for you!
XxXx, sadly, never had his been issues addressed, with the exception of some short test he received at the March of Dimes in Battle Creek. You admitted as much. The testing process was obviously cursory, as the rest of us waited in the car while it was done. Then off we went for lunch.
XxXx left home a broken person, having barely made his way through high school and with stunted social skills and almost no work experience. No surprise he become a prostitute at an BDSM club. That tells all of us volumes, doesn’t it? He was a damaged and vulnerable individual, one who was likely sexually abused — look up the stats on that if you still haven’t connected those dots. There’s no mystery there, really, just as there wasn’t in Elaine’s household — the physical abuse from Ron, the sexual abuse from Grandpa Louie. Shameful all around with a similar pattern and reaction. The neglect, the abuse, the turning a blind eye, the pretending, the caring more about what other people think, the failure to help the children. I’ve had my fill of it. It truly haunts me.
Pretend away, as you have always done, but the fact is this: xxxx was emotionally and physically abusive to all three of us and you ignored that. You neglected us when we were little, moved us eleven times before I left for college, spent only a minimal amount of time with us as we were growing up and you were a huge coward. Your non-intervention encouraged xxxx’s sadistic bullying. You gave her free reign, enabled the abuse. Then, the two of you manufactured a convincing façade with your perfect house, the children who were polite and cheerful on cue, with your position in the community as a high-ranking college administrator, xxxx the well-dressed, well-coiffed housewife. And through all that was going on behind closed doors — not once did you stand up for us, your children. We were at the bottom of your priority list. You chose xxxx over and over again, and you continue to do so. And that’s what you have left in your life: her. That is your own doing. Yours alone.
And how dare you imply I turned my kids against you. I did nothing of the sort. You did that on your own, if in fact, they are against you. No one has erased the memories of their time with you. Ellie has, in her possession, every last photo album you put together. You can drop the self-pity act. You don’t do it convincingly. Perhaps pick up the phone, like a man, and call them. Pretty sure you do call Ben, but not Ellie, from what I’ve heard. Don’t expect a relationship with her unless you (not xxxx) make an effort. Text, email or call. Use snail mail. Whatever works. And don’t give up when Ellie doesn’t meet xxxx’s standards on how things should be done in the communication department. xxxx can’t even figure out how to post a picture on Facebook. Perhaps encourage Ellie to tell you how she feels. Then accept her thoughts without judgement. That might be a good start, right there. Both kids are aware that I have had issues with the two of you, but I have been clear: those are my issues, not theirs. You were much better grandparents than parents, I have to give you credit for that. Perhaps your last gaslighting email was an attempt to squeeze out of any further responsibility or connection with Ellie? Hard to tell. That’s on you, XXXX. I have encouraged both kids to continue their relationships with you, if they are inclined. Ask them, if you don’t believe me. I’ve done the same regarding their father. They know my feelings toward them are not predicated on whether they continue or discontinue to have contact with you, xxxx or Bxxxx. So, cut the bullshit.
At some point, we all come to that three-way intersection and have had to decide whether to turn left or right. There is no going forward — it’s just a field in front of us. And here we are, at that spot. You and xxxx have made your choice, we’ve made ours. You’ve turned one way, we turned the other and now our vehicles are moving further apart at twice their normal speed as we head in opposite directions. Surely you have the intelligence to see that.
This could not be clearer: your family values are not our family values. My daughter is queer, and you vote for a political party that is anti-LGBTQ and trying their damnedest to take away their rights. My son studied environmental science and aspires to work for the National Park Service. You vote for the guy who is dismantling all environmental programs and closing the national monuments and forests and selling them off to corporations. How can you not get this is the opposite of being supportive and loving toward your family? This is upsetting stuff.
Add to that the fact the kids will likely lose their health insurance in a few months thanks to that Big Beautiful Bill, and there will be no food assistance programs (something we have relied on through hard financial times and a program Ellie needs right now) and who knows if I will ever see social security. I am certainly looking at a huge reduction in Medicare just about the time I would have been receiving it. Read the BB Bill. I know that profanity is about the worst thing ever, in your book, but fuck you on all of that. You and xxxx voted for these things.
If there were any overlaps in our values, we would be talking about them. But there aren’t and we don’t talk, in any meaningful way, because you are too cowardly to have it out. You and I — only rarely have we ever talked. And that’s not just this year, I’m talking about my whole life. You were absent. Checked out. Too busy. Not convinced of this? Bring up the call log on your phone. I think you’ll find you’ve only dialed my number a few times over the years. Ditto for Ellie. Ditto for XxXx. Girls are barely a blip on your radar. Boys are more important. Boys can be trusted. We listen and consider what they say. They are the ultimate deciders on all things. Message received loud and clear.
Regarding this civil war in which we are now living and on which we are on opposite sides, this is an existential situation, not just run-of-the-mill political differences between our households. This is our Nazi Germany. Believe it. Either you're backing a democracy or an autocracy. Either you believe in the rights of women, the LGBTQ community, and people of all ethnicities and religions, or not. Either you are for taking care of the earth, or you are willing to dismantle the EPA and all agencies that protect the quality of our air, soil and water. Either you believe in the Constitution and all of its amendments and the Bill of Rights, or you do not. Either you believe in the checks and balances of our former three branches of government or you are all-in on giving Trump carte blanche with his executive orders, as the Supreme Court did yesterday. Either you believe in free speech or support sending dissenters to prison in El Salvador. Which is it, Hans?
And you either believe all people deserve to have food, shelter, and healthcare, or you don't give a shit about that, even though there are millions of people in this country who hold jobs that come nowhere near to providing them with an income that covers their basic needs. And these people work harder than you ever did for their measly minimum wages. Those lazy ass people, as I’m sure you imagine them, cook and serve the food you enjoy when you eat out, which is just about every day from what I’ve heard. They scrub the toilets and floors at your hospital, and they pick up your garbage. They would have been running the nursing homes where you will soon be residents. Count on those facilities having an even more difficult time securing qualified staff once ICE comes to town. Yours and xxxx’s final chapter is looking to be a bit dicey, isn’t it?
And a big fuck you to all of those brown people who finally got a leg up in this world, right? How dare they. They deserve to get kicked out of our country. They are mostly criminals and rapists from what you’ve heard on FOX. And all of that is backed up by facts, am I right? You and your friend, Trump, and all his GOP buds — y’all are going to teach those lawful permanent residents and illegals a lesson. They will just have to get used to these changes.
Then there are all those pesky science things, like vaccines and global warming. Though you squirmed out of taking science classes in high school, you, a man with a doctorate, intrinsically know scientists often get things wrong, and that the conspiracy theorists (without credentials I might add), who now populate all of the government agencies that once provided essential guidance — these folks know better. I will never forget listening to your arguments with Ben on global warming — your grandson, who was brilliant in math and science, and working on a degree in environmental studies at one of the best degree programs in that field in the country. Nope, he was wrong. Maybe you used the word mistaken. Trust you, cheer up, you said — your common sense trumped everything he knew and all that he was studying. Your brilliant common sense trumped the hard facts and tens of thousands of scientists worldwide. Your common sense. The arrogance. It makes me want to throw up.
Either you align yourself with the other democracies in the world, or you admire dictators and autocrats. Either you're good with commercial logging coming in and clear-cutting national forests, or the thought of it makes your heart sick. And how does it make you feel to see thousands of hardworking, law-abiding immigrants with legitimate social security numbers, who pay taxes, handcuffed in fields of strawberries and vegetables and disrespectfully dragged to jail by ICE agents who are too chickenshit to even show their faces? How do you feel knowing these people are getting deported, separated from their children, and their life savings taken away? I’m guessing you avoid feeling anything, as usual, because those are hard thoughts and it is so much easier to watch FOX News where everything has been sanitized and the narrative reordered and simplified for what comes off as a more logical view of the world, even though the “facts” are completely fabricated.
For me and for my kids, these brown people you and Trump have chosen to round up — these are people we know. They are the people Ben and Ellie grew up with and who were in their classes, many of them at the top of the class. They are the people who provided daycare and helped with housework while I worked — and not just a few times here and there, like you and xxxx — these folks helped us all the time, hundreds of days, every year. They were our family, here in Napa. These are people we love.
Then there are all the people who helped me with yardwork and other physically difficult tasks for the two years I couldn’t walk. They delivered our groceries and prescriptions during Covid, they are XOXO’s ranch hands. It is their amazing food that we have enjoyed on our table and that you’ve enjoyed on yours — about 80% of it for those of you shopping at Walmart. I pray the price of your groceries skyrocket and that the store shelves are empty. You would so richly deserve that, and it’s the only way you will appreciate what you’ve done to our country.
It is gut-wrenching to see our Hispanic community getting pulled out of their cars and handcuffed in downtown NNNN, at a checkpoint between our two courthouses — the halls of justice that no longer offer due process to all. I would hate to worry your pretty little head with facts, but the United States Constitution used to guarantee the right of due process to everyone. EVERYONE. Citizens and noncitizens alike. You might give it a read one of these days. It has a lot of hard words, but you can easily Google their meaning.
So, fuck you and fuck your GOP buddies and fuck xxxx. Your lot is ripping my community to bits. Our entire Hispanic community is in hiding — for weeks I’ve not seen them at our Kaiser health clinic, the club where I swim, at local work sites, at our stores and restaurants. Business owners are having to add security to their offices, and parents are keeping their kids out of summer programs. You and xxxx voted for this. Ignorant and shameful. I am choosing to stand by my community and by my children.
Are you getting any of this? We are in a war. A civil war. And you and I — we are on opposite sides.
Let me be clear about my feelings about the two of you. I am incredibly disappointed. I am embarrassed by your ignorance and lack of empathy. Furious at your stubbornness. Appalled that you don't care about the future of your grandchildren. The one thing I am not: surprised. You have been this way my whole life. Stupidly, I had held out hope that one day, the two of you would get a clue and would soften your hearts. I imagined you would acknowledge the damage you did and would apologize. xxxx did, sort of, in her one-page handwritten note. Though her apology failed to acknowledge the specific things she did to us that were abusive, the apology for failing to address my trauma in losing my mother mattered to me. You never even understood how we felt about that, and never spoke of it. You were just angry at Dawn. And selfish. All that mattered were your feelings, not ours.
All of this — it’s something I can no longer live with. You, XXXX, are the same as you have always been: arrogant and self-righteous. You imagine you know better than everyone else. But you don’t. I knew that when I was five.
I am attaching some memories I have of what it was like growing up in your household. I’m sure you have whitewashed all of this in your mind, but that’s not something I’m capable of. I want you to remember things as I do every day. I want you to feel the pain I have felt and that xxXX has felt, and I want you to experience deeply what XxXx went through. I hope it makes you incredibly sad. You owe him that.
I don’t expect an apology from you. I don’t imagine you capable of one. Neither am I capable of forgiving you. Rejecting completely what the two of you have done is how I have survived. I do not accept in any way how we were treated. It was wrong.
I am not interested in a reply from you, nor would I read it. If you have something you need to say, I would recommend finding a psychotherapist.
As far as your grandkids are concerned, any relationship you have with them is on you. You know where they stand politically. You have a phone, you have a computer. Connect at will. But good luck finding any common ground. They are struggling greatly as they go about trying to be adults in this fucking mess. Now they can add to the pileup the loss of financial support from the two of you. Trust me, they will not make nice just to get your help. If that’s what you expect, think again. They are cut from the same cloth as I am.
I hope any of the money and property you might have willed to me goes to XxXx. He will need it. He deserves it. Fuck you both for not taking care of him.
Sincerely,
Chris
Parting Memory, for XxXx
I want you to visualize the first thing I remember about xxxx and how she treated XxXx.
It’s your turn to live with this picture that I have carried around in my head for decades. Your turn to carry this heavy rock. I am passing this grief and anger on to you.
One day, when I was in first grade and we were living on Central St., and while you were at work, for some reason, xxxx became upset with XxXx. He was tiny, as you know, the smallest kid in his class. And she was big and towered over him — you could see that he was physically intimidated by her. Something he did set her off, though it was so petty, I can’t even remember the circumstance. She became incensed, and ridiculously so, in a way I am positive you can relate to — angry, red-faced, and threatening. She grabbed XxXx’s wrist and yanked him toward her, then put her face close to his and growled at him to be still or she would make it worse. He was terrified. He tried to get away, but she held him tight, then pulled his pants down, underwear included. His genitals were exposed, and he was humiliated about that. Then she stood up and held him high by one arm, his feet barely touching the ground, and began repeatedly hitting his backside until his skin was bright red and he was reduced to tears. Through the whole ordeal, he was begging her to stop, but his pleas only stoked up the physical violence. There is no other word for it. It was violence. The more he cried, the harder she hit him. The hitting seemed to go on forever, and I felt helpless to make it stop. She was like a monster, totally out of control. Then, just as quickly as she’d gotten mad, she let go of his arm and left him on the floor, where he lay in a heap, crying. She seemed satisfied, almost smiling, once he was subdued, then she told me I was not to tell you about this, and she ordered XxXx to pull up his pants. I was left alone with XxXx in the dining room. It was heartbreaking to see him so hurt and humiliated. I couldn’t believe what she had done. She had really hurt him, then left him there crying and half-naked. I hated her.
That night when you came home, I told you what happened, and you promised not to tell her, but, of course, you did. You can guess how that played out. I tried numerous times to get you to understand there were problems, but you always believed her, not us. I will never forgive you for that.
For my brother
Thank you, Tom, for finding this beautiful and poignant rendition of the piece we knew growing up.
Chris Andrews: Whew, all one needs to know about the horrors and tragedy are in the paragraph beginning, "One day, when I was in first grade and we were living on Central St., and while you were at work . . ."
Chris: With the innocence and beauty of children, I cannot even imagine.
That paragraph alone is enough to bring profound sorrow, coupled with anger at the monster.
A little child is so innocent.
S/he acts up.
That is exactly what Mother Nature made little kids for. Acting up is part of healthy growth and usually is a source of humor in the loving mom and dad.
If a child is brought up in tenderness and love, that child will develop into a beautiful person.
I cannot tell you how much this whole piece has shaken me.
I’m so sorry that you have had to carry this rage for so long. This letter was long overdue. Hopefully the process of writing it was cathartic. Time to open lots of windows and let the fresh air in.