Letter to a deadbeat dad


Dear Virgil,

If you’re wondering where your Father’s Day card is, stop wondering.

You ain’t gettin’ one. The kids were going to draw something, but they can’t because you ain’t paid no child support and there’s no money for crayons or pencils or paper.

So suck on it.


You can ignore the court orders all you want from now on. It’s not worth it to fight on the phone anymore. But you can’t see Hailey or Virgil Jr. no more.

We’re barely making it as is. The kids ask about you all the time, you and that tramp. What do I tell them? I’m tired of lying to cover your sorry ass.

So thanks for nothing. Thanks for five years of a worthless marriage. Thanks for running us into debt. Thanks for skipping out on me and the kids. Thanks for showing us how daddy is a two-timing lowlife waste of air.

If you ever show up at this place again, you’ll be sorry, I can promise you that. And unlike you, I keep my word.

I won’t lie to the kids again or make up stories about how you had car trouble or got tied up at work. They’ll know if they don’t already.

Soon, they won’t cry for you ever again. Their daddy’ll just be some guy like the landlord and the bus driver. Except the landlord and the bus driver show up when they’re supposed to.

It won’t be Father’s Day around here this year or next year or any other year. It’ll be just plain Sunday.

I’d say we’d pray for you, but that would mostly be a lie.

But I’ll secretly pray for you. To keep away forever.

Your ex-wife,



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