Stories by Crazy

A little crazy never hurt anyone…

Category: Letters from My Father


Dear Son,

If you’re reading this, then it’s likely that I’ve passed away.

I know you’re having a hard time, and it’s probably worse now being the only man in the house. I want to thank you in advance for taking care of your mom and sister. They’re going to need you to be strong, so that they can move on. It’s going to seem impossible to do that yourself, but I know you can do it.

I know it because I saw it in you. When you graduated high school, when you graduated college, when you pulled yourself up and got a job, got more education to get a better job, and now, you’re supporting yourself. I was always proud of you, regardless of your achievements, but I want you to know that I really am very proud of you.

I hope that you got something out of the way I lived my life, at the very least about the importance of having a relationship with God. In the end, that’s all that really matters. You could be the best person in the world, or the worst, but you still have to face the Man Upstairs. Probably a better situation if you’re on good terms with Him.

Don’t let yourself sit in misery too long over my passing. I don’t want that for you. You’ve got so much of your life ahead of you, and the last thing I want is for you to crash on my account. You’ve got this, and you’ve got your mom and sister. You’ve got friends, although some of them are knuckleheads. Know that I’m in a better place, and keep pressing on, fighting the good fight. See the world. Make changes. Do all that hippie stuff. Live your life, and don’t waste it.

Take care of yourself, your mom, and your sister. I love you very much, Son. Don’t you ever forget it.




Off the Couch

Dear Son,

I know you’re still pretty upset about losing your job. It happens to all of us. Hell, it’s happened to me more than I want to count. (If your mother really knew how floundering I was with employment, you would not be here today.)

I don’t know what it is with kids nowadays that just sit on the couch watching Netflix or whatever the new streaming video site is, but you really need to do something other than drone away everyday. I mean, engage life and better yourself. Read a book. Watch a movie (outside of the house). Go exercise — I’ll go with you if you need to. Just stop moping on the damn couch.

The longer you stay on the couch, the more your mother is going to coddle you. That might seem great and all, but if you’re under my roof, you will earn your spot at the table and a bed to sleep in at night. I still have to take care of your baby sister, and that’s hard enough as it is. Now, I’m paying for your school loans and your mother’s school loans and saving for your sister’s school loans, on top of feeding everyone in the house and keeping the lights on.

Seriously, if I don’t see rent soon, I will kick you out. You can go live with your grandparents, who I’m sure would love to have you couch surf for a year or so. I should remind you that they live in the middle of nowhere, and that they farm for a living — eventually, you’ll have to carry your own weight.

I know it’s tough feeling like you’ve failed, but you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back out there. Use that 140 IQ that got you through high school and college. You’re smart, so I guarantee you’ll find a job. It might not be what you want, and it may certainly be beneath you, but you have to put your ego aside and put your nose to the grindstone. Eventually, things will turn around in your favor.

Until then, please get off the damn couch. I want to watch ESPN sometime.



Make Good Your Promises

Dear Son,

I hope you’re doing well in college. Lord knows I struggled a lot, but I’m pretty sure you got your mom’s smarts, so it’s probably a breeze for you. Just keep your eyes off the skirts and in the books, and you’ll be just fine. (Then again, a little peek never hurt anyone…)

It’s been a while since your mom and I have seen you at home. We thought you’d be home for Christmas, but I guess you changed your mind. I understand if there’s a girl involved or your internship is keeping you busy, but your mom would like to see your face in person once in a while, not just over the computer.

I worry because this isn’t the first time you said you’d do something and backed out. There was the car insurance, the credit card bill, tuition, just to name the big ones. There were little things like birthdays, but I can’t hold that against you, since I have trouble remembering your mother’s and my anniversary.

I would like to say this: make good on your promises, Son. I’m not pushing the whole “verbal contract is binding” mumbo-jumbo, but if you’re going to say that you’re going to do something, make sure to do it. Disappointing people is a pretty bad habit to be in, and it’s even tougher to dig yourself out. If you break trust, you can’t fix it with money. It’s like a clay jar: once you break it, it’s always broken.

Be mindful of what you promise, my son, because people’s hearts and lives are in your hands.

Your mom and I love you very much. Please come home soon. We miss you.



Use Your Head


First, I want you to know that I love you. I wouldn’t force anything on you or tell you not to do something unless I knew you were really going to hurt yourself. This is one of those times.

It’s gotten to be quite concerning hearing about you doing dangerous things. I can understand the skateboarding and playing with fire. It may be hard to tell, but your old man used to be able to take the half-pipe pretty aggressively. (There’s a reason why I can’t do it anymore.) That’s all fine and well, but your mom told me that you were experimenting with drugs.

Now, I don’t know what exactly you’re smoking or shooting, but I’m just going to assume it’s heroine. Whenever I think of the worst, I always think of heroine. Or LSD. Either way, I’m going to put my father foot down and ask you not to do it anymore. It really is dangerous, and I’ve seen plenty of friends throw their lives away because they got addicted, or worse.

You’d probably argue that it’s your life, and you choose what to do with it. I won’t argue against that, but while you’re living in my house, you will live by my rules. Your following those rules means you have a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, electricity for all your video games, food in your stomach and a couch for you and your weird theatre girlfriend to make out on. This is one thing I’m really asking of you, and if you can’t do that, then I need you to leave.

I need you to leave because I care about your younger siblings, because I care about your mother. I cannot have you tweaking in this house because you endanger those around you. Most of all, I need you to leave so that you don’t hurt yourself.

What I mean is that I will take you to a treatment center, hospital or police station, whichever comes first. This isn’t the road you want to take, though. I can guarantee that you will find yourself in even worse pain sobering up, or scared out of your mind by people who are already too far along into drug abuse. I have bailed out or buried too many friends who just wanted to get high and have a good time, and the last thing I ever want to do, I never want to do, is bury my son.

Please rethink this, son. Please make the right decision. I love you.



When the Time Comes

To my dear son,

These last couple days have been rough, and more importantly, I can’t recall what happened. Before I lose everything, I want to tell you somethings before it’s too late.

I know we haven’t talked in a while. I can’t even remember the argument that started this, but you are my son, and we both have the stubborn bug. I’ll just be the first to say that I’m sorry. I wasn’t the father that you needed, and I wasn’t there when you needed a father.

Your mom worries about you, probably just as much as she worries about me. Your mom worries a lot. Please, whatever you’re doing, at least include her in dialogue so she knows how you are.

Your sisters seems to think I don’t care about you, but I do. You may be the youngest, but you’re my youngest. You’re my boy. I do care what happens to you, even though you may still hate my guts. I don’t want you making the same mistakes I did, but more importantly, I don’t want you to hurt the same ways I did.

When I buried your uncle and brother a couple years ago, it killed me. It was bad enough to lose my only brother, but to lose a son was unimaginable. It’s something that I don’t want even on my worst enemies, and certainly none of my children. There’s a torture that boils inside of you, like hot lava pouring out of a volcano. It never stops. It never cools. You just burn from the heartache of how you couldn’t do anything, of last words that should’ve been more meaningful.

Now that I’m about to lose you, I don’t want to make the same mistakes again.

I love you, son. I always have, and I always will. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye, but you are my son. I put you in diapers, and I watched you grow into a man. I’m proud that you are who you are because you’re better than anything I could be, and I’m glad to have at least watched you do it from the sidelines. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t be better for you, and I hope that in time, you can forgive me of my mistakes. I may not be around for you to accept my apology, but I think I can go in peace knowing that you’re going to be fine on your own.

I love you, son. I love you so much. I miss you, and I love you.