Dear Young Ali,

The hate that fills your mind, body, and soul is overwhelming. I know that.

But you are ready. You are strong. You defend yourself and your little sister when the words strike. Those words directed at you without compassion. They are meant to destroy.

You are a ten-year-old Amazon, a warrior princess before warrior princesses become a Hollywood trend. You are always ahead of your time.

But I know your guarded secret.

I know what you hide.

The hate is a front. It is a disguise. It is the shield you carry to survive this verbal war.

You are afraid.

You are afraid of this woman that is now part of your life. A woman brought, without permission, into your pink world.

You are Cinderella without the dress and the talking mice.

Or the fairy godmother.

You would give anything to have an adult fight for you. Protect you. From her words. From her cruelty.

But you are your own defender and the guardian of the weak.

You excel at it. You become alert of spewed words. Ready to fight. To safeguard yourself and the little sister you love. And you have learned how to be ruthless. You are a master at causing devastation with a few words of your own.

You did learn from the best.

The hate will give you purpose and guide everything you do, every decision made. It is the yellow brick road you follow.

Many will be lost along the way; demolished by your sharp tongue.

Someday it will be her you destroy.

Someday.

Decades later and she is there. It is ok. You are prepared for the moment. Since the last time you saw her, at fifteen years old, you have annihilated everyone in your way. Practice for this day.

You are an expert with cruel words.

She makes an entrance. She has been asked not to attend this family funeral. She in unwanted and unwelcomed.

Others carry the same hate that you do.

The metal of the walker she now uses clangs loudly as she purposely hits every pew on her way to the front of the church. Shattering the thick silence of mourning. Everyone turns around to see her; halted from shedding tears for the woman that left us, a woman made of kindness and love. Something she does not understand. She wants us to be aware that no one will keep her away. Not even your sister-in-law’s moment to say goodbye to her mother.

Your brother, a hate survivor, runs to her. Still loyal to this woman that raised him with scorn. Because he never allowed his heart to darken. Like you allowed yours.

She sees you. You see her.

She calls out your name. As if she has a right to use it at all.

You are ready. You are strong. You are no longer a defenseless child.

You look at her. Really look at her. The giant villain of your memories is gone; a shadow of the evil stepmother she once was. She is weak. She is miserable. She is a Disney character gasping for air while melting in a pool of darkness.

This is the moment that culminated through the darkness of divorce, failure, and loneliness, the light at the end of the tunnel.

This is your time to finally devastate her with words. Merciless. Callous. Cruel. Brutal.

You will walk toward this woman.

And you will speak.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

Standing inside that church, the hate that has been a faithful companion to your pain will leave your body. Like an angel with wings.

The lead holding you down will disappear.

From that moment your words will carry love, humor, and hope; the words that will guide your flight to reach great heights.

And you will reach great heights.

I have seen it.

Old Ali