Dear Abba, my dad:
Do you remember when I used to run across those dry, yellow soccer fields in the Arizona heat, chasing a white ball with the other kids? I was number 03, Abba. I was never any good; I scored an average of zero goals per game, but whenever I got close to the goal, I'd glance toward the sidelines before I kicked the ball at the net. You were always standing, clapping earnestly.
You thought I was a soccer prodigy. I remember your glasses fogging up while you sang my praises at the dinner table while eating a bowl of doenjang jjigae. I never corrected you. It felt easier to keep running than to tell you why I was really out there.
And Abba, I’m sure you remember the time when you introduced me to American football, and we both sat in front of the TV, cheering on the Titans. You made cheese sandwiches for us and told me this was how Americans eat. You also told me we needed a beer. When I saw how excited you were, pumping your fist up every time the Titans scored, I decided I needed a career change. I asked you to sign me up for flag football instead of soccer–and you, smiling, did.
Abba, I sucked. I know you thought I was good, but I sucked. I was so awful they never put me in unless we were losing by 30 points, or winning by 40 points. But the game I was put in, the game the quarterback actually passed to me, 11-year-old me ran like a madman and scored a touchdown on the wrong side of the field. Everybody thought I was stupid. You still clapped though. Somehow you always managed to cheer for exactly the thing everyone else laughed at.
Abba, can I be honest with you?
I never liked soccer. I hated the sun and the sunblock you forced me to wear. I only played because you would look so damn happy whenever I got near the ball.
And I didn't run to the wrong side of the field by mistake. I ran exactly where I meant to. Straight towards you. Even if you reversed back time and gave me another chance to score that touchdown, I would turn right around and run the wrong way all over again.
It’s crazy, but because I couldn’t say ‘I love you,’ I ended up doing all these stupid things when all I really wanted was a hug. It’s only now, after everything has passed I can express it in short memoirs or letters like this one. And even if I got to face you one more time, I'm not sure I'd be able to say it out loud.
But one thing I know for sure is that I don’t want to waste my time running in a soccer, golf, or football match anymore. I just want to run straight towards you.
Much love, Harry, your son.
Published 7th November 2026