I’m writing to the haters. To the selfish. To anyone who leaves bad tips at restaurants. To politicians. To dishonest bosses, miserable coworkers, and any misguided soul who refuses to wear deodorant in public.
To the man who parked his van six inches from a woman’s car. Who flung his door and dented her vehicle, then kept walking.
To the gas station clerk who told the little boy put the Gatorade back because he was nine cents short. To the gal who snapped at the old confused woman in the supermarket saying, “Excuse me, you’re standing in my way, lady.”
To the fella who backed into my mailbox and ran over it with his truck. My mailman saw it and remarked, “That thing’s deader than disco.”
To the teenagers who drowned a litter of puppies in the creek.
To your jerk-boss, who instead of firing you, cut your hours. To my old boss—who did the same thing. To the cocky supervisor, who docked a single mother’s pay when she showed up late.
I’m writing to the kid who smashed my truck window and got my radio. To the stranger from Miami who nabbed my credit card number and bought three-thousand-dollars’ worth of Little Ceasar’s Pizza.
He could’ve at least bought some Church’s chicken.
I’m writing to the woman who shouted the F-word at the white-haired man in traffic. To the joker who cuts in line.
I’m writing to my friend who wronged me. To the landlord who kicked my mother out, years ago. To the clever business-minded fella who cheated me out of money.
Also: to the teenager who raped and killed a girl. Who when asked about it, said, “life’s cheap.” To the mother who suffocated her six-month-old. To crooked lawyers. To greedy clergymen. To the high-schoolers who battered their gay classmate.
To those who hurt me on accident. To anyone who’s broken someone else’s heart on purpose.
To men who smack women. To women who hit men. And I’m writing to the man who molested a little girl for four years while she was living in a safe house.
To people. Average ones, who became lost. Who got so intoxicated with their own self-love, it made them sick.
And, to my daddy—who left us by horrible means before I was old enough to shave.
Dammit, it’s not easy to say this. But I have to. Because I’m naive enough to believe the fate of mankind depends on it. The people of this world have gotten mean, but I will not go down with this ship.
I don’t care what you’ve done to me, or how bad it hurt.
I forgive you.