No, you may not read this story.
I really am proud of it, yes. It's not embarrassing. I'm not hiding anything. And I have indeed posted it on the Internet for hundreds to see. People say it's good. You still may not read it.

Why? Because you're my dad.

It has everything to do with it, okay? Hear me out. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I take a little bit of my soul. I distill it, organize it, refine it, and then slap it down on a piece of paper.

It's private. It's mine. And I can't share it lightly.

Okay, yes, I did post it online where anyone can see it, where thousands of strangers can criticize and discuss, but there is a difference.

That difference is that the Internet is anonymous. That difference is that these people are looking deep inside me but they don't know it. The difference is that they analyze my writing, some of them, but don't think too hard about the creator.

You are my father. We are related and will be for the rest of our lives. And though this story is not about me – not about anyone I know, not about anything that's ever happened to me – it's still my soul. I have a deep, probably unfounded, and unshakeable fear of how it will change your view of me.

I am not brave enough. I'm sorry, but no, you may not read this story.

(Feel free to show this to Mom.)