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Here is a piece I wrote in reflection of a young person that I know is struggling…

Daddy, Daddy,
Look at me!
Look at me!
Don’t look down that bottle again.
Don’t squint your eyes in anger.
Look at your son.
Can’t you see me?
I’m still a boy in this big man’s body.
I’m still waiting to hear you say,
I love you.
It’s just that I want to be you.
Think your thoughts,
Walk your walk,
I watch your every move.
So when you say right is wrong,
Up is down,
I believe you.
When you say jump I’ll jump,
Run, I’ll run.
Even if the destination is destruction,
I’ll still believe you Daddy.
It helps me to cling to those times when you speak up instead of shut down on me.
Those memories help me gloss over the times when you disgust me and make me feel ashamed and afraid.
When I realize that this man is not defending this house,
Just sucking it dry.
When I see the reality, past your half-truths and empty promises.
After I have bit my tongue for the hundredth time as you lecture me on being good and responsible only to see you sink back into the couch, out of my way, into the background.
I want you to show up, I want you to be the hero but your every attempt at saving me just masks the fact that you need the saving.
That you are missing something too as your brokenness spills out through your fatherly facade.
But I don’t accuse you, not to your face at least.
I just harbor bitter regret, silent stubborn anger year after year.
I protect your image Daddy from the outside world.
I would rather keep you hidden away in my house, it’s easier that way.
I can handle this on my own. It’s no big deal. I’m ok I say.
But I wonder if God knows about you.
About me.
Could He do anything about this?
I don’t know.
Haven’t asked him yet.


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