Dear April,

You may not know who I am, but I’ve watched you grow over the past sixteen years. You’ve grown from an innocent child to a beautiful young lady. You’ve never known me as your father, but you’ve met me. We’ve exchanged multiple conversations, and I’ve had to try my best not to give any sign of the pain in my heart.

   You may be wondering, “Why haven’t I contacted you?” I don’t have an answer that won’t make me appear as a coward. Because I am. I’m the lowest type of coward there could ever be. I’ve looked into your captivating blue eyes numerous times, and not once have I told you the truth. You, my dear, have grown up without a father in your life, and only the constant support of your mother.
   Before you tear up this page and throw it away, please let me explain. Nineteen years ago, I met your mother in Australia. She was taking a year off from college to travel the world, and I was studying abroad in Sydney. We met on the beach and spent at least four hours talking. As the night approached, I asked her to join me for dinner. I took her to a small local shop just two miles away from where we met. Our night ended after dinner, and I asked if I could keep in contact with her. After that day, we spent the next week exploring Sydney and beach hopping in between my studies. As quick as it all happened, I was in love with her. I was in love with the crinkle in her nose when she laughs. I’ve even noticed the same feature in you. I was in love with the way she could walk into a room and heads would turn to gaze at her beauty, but she didn’t let it affect her down-to-earth ego.
   At the end of the week, she was meant to travel to Italy. However, her short visit turned into an entire year spent in Australia. We were inseparable… That is until she told me that she was to return to the states in the following weeks. She asked me to come back with her. She begged me. I contemplated the idea for three weeks, until it was too late and she left. As she walked away, I knew I had broken her heart. This knowledge broke mine. I could’ve run after her and followed her back home, but I didn’t. I was a coward for letting her go. I am a coward for leaving you without a father.
   When I graduated from college, I headed back to Knoxville (where I grew up). Upon returning, I realized I had nothing. I had no job. No friends. All I had was the feeling of emptiness that your mother once filled. I knew I had to find her. At first, I didn’t know how to go about it, but I knew she was from Oakridge. It was only about 20 minutes from Knoxville, and her last name was Johnson. It was a place to start.
   I drove to Oakridge the following day, rented a room in the cheapest motel and began my search. The small town allowed me to find her within two days. I walked into a grocery store, and immediately recognized the women reaching on her tiptoes trying to grab a can of sweet peas. It was your mother. Sitting in the green plastic shopping cart was a beautiful toddler, presumably the age of two. I didn’t understand. How could she have a child that was two? Was the child mine? She was in Australia with me around two years ago. Had she known? Is this why she begged me to come back with her?
   I followed her to her house and waited about twenty minutes, until I had the courage, to approach the house. I knocked on the hand painted door. She answered, almost fainting from the realization that it was me standing on her front porch. She regained her stability, hesitantly inviting me in. She had known she was pregnant. She had wanted me to show that I truly loved her. She believed that if I did, I would’ve come back with her. Not because of the baby, but because I couldn’t imagine myself living a day separated from her.
   Every day for the next three weeks, I made every effort to see you, to meet you. However, your mom told me that I wasn’t allowed to be in your life as your father. Not until I proved I could be a stable figure for you. Enraged, I fled. I went back to Knoxville and was hired as a history teacher at one of the high schools in the area. Yet again, I was being a coward. I left your mother. I left you.
   Seven years later, the guilt had eaten through me. I had become a raging alcoholic, lost my job, and in turn, lost my house. I wanted to make right… or do the best I could. Returning to Oakridge, I found your mother living in the same house, with you at nine years old. I pleaded with her to let me be a part of your life. However, my previous actions took away my chances to play my role as your father. I wasn’t forced to leave, but until your 18th birthday, I couldn’t tell you who I was.
   I’ve watched as you went through middle school, where you cut your hair into a pixie hairstyle and dyed it black. You wore dark, torn clothing that hung off of your thin frame. The thick eyeliner coated your eyes. I saw your mother stress over how to make you as happy as the time you ran from the slide to a swing set. I wanted so much to be there for you. I wanted to help you out of this stage. I wanted to show you I cared.
   As you entered high school, I saw a change. You grew your hair out, letting it go back to its natural mocha color. You made friends with people that seemed to make you happy. Your grades rose to be in the top 25% of your school. As your father, I was so proud of you. I wished I could have told you… But I couldn’t.
   Your mother is aware of me writing this letter. She has every right to know that I am trying to get in contact to you. I know that this was a lot of information all at once, but I hope you read to the end. There is no way I can ever repay for the pain I have caused both you and your mother. I know that for sure. I have neglected to be an honorable man. Not because of either of you, but because of myself. Even as a child, accepting responsibility for my actions was never my strong suit. The past couple of years have been my greatest effort at trying to make right for all of the times I have wronged your mother. Even today, I love her. I still think of our summer together as I close my eyes to sleep. Your mother deserves to be happy. You both do.
   It is now your 18th birthday. I’m writing you this letter because I think that you deserve to know who I am. I work at your high school as a history teacher. My name is Jeffrey Williams. I hope you choose to answer, but if you don’t, I understand. I’m sorry for being the coward I am.

Sincerely,

Your Father.