Dad,
I'm 20 years old. I have a job. Do you know how many don't have jobs? I have one. Does that mean anything? It doesn't pay what you think I should make, but I perform an important service, cooking for others, delivering their food.

It gives me money to do what I want. Do you know what I want, Dad? Do you care what I want?

I don't want to join the military. I think it's wrong to kill people because someone tells me to.

So I smoke a little, snort a little. I want to enjoy life and not think about all the problems, the wrongs, the injustice, the hypocrisy.

Sure I've been busted for drugs. I don't think the laws are fair, necessary, or even legal. Should I set out to change that? Would that embarrass a military man?

Do you see what the world is like? How long will it go on? Wouldn't you like to enjoy it while it lasts?

I don't save. Why should I give the bank my money, knowing they may steal it like they've stolen everything else they can get their hands on.

I took a class for you, Dad. Did you know it was for you? I don't want to go to college, don't want to join the military, don't want to have 6 figures in the bank. But I took the class. It was saying, I love you, in a way I can't verbalize.

I don't know yet what I want, but know clearly what I don't want. I'm 20 Dad. Only 20. Maybe some day I'll be as wise as you. Maybe I'll even make some of the choices you made, but until then, help me find myself.

I'm sorry about your cars. You know I'm sorry. I'm sorry you feel the way you do. But know this, Dad. I love you. And would love nothing more than having the love returned.
Love,
Your Son