Yes, Daddy

by Jonathan Parks-Ramage

I could catalog a comprehensive list of what might haunt him for the rest of his life, how his feelings would likely intensify once his story was released into the unpredictable waters of the Twitterverse as chum for verified sharks. Catharsis was possible, but so was further trauma,

Why, then, did none of these men testify? Because they were boys with ugly pasts. Questionable characters with histories of substance abuse, broken families, sex work, and desperate ambitions to be in show business. It was a cruel irony — the vulnerabilities that made these boys perfect targets for Richard and company were the same vulnerabilities that destroyed their credibility as witnesses in a court of law.

Come forward. I hate that term. When you tell your story, you don’t come forward — you let people in. Into the dark place you’ve occupied for years. And what happens when the public enters? Maybe they rush to you with open arms, tell you the things you’ve longed to hear. Or maybe these people stomp inside with their muddy boots, accusing you of crimes, confirming your worst fears about yourself.

And yet I can’t stop thinking about how the men in my life always fail me. How trauma seems to follow me wherever I go. How I find it impossible to trust the embrace of another man, to experience touch as anything other than a precursor to violence. Even so, I keep going back for more. Even so, I’m getting on this plane, hoping this time will be different. Hoping my father’s love won’t destroy me.