Originally posted on A Voice for Men: and is republished here in its entirety with permission from the author
January 21, 2013 By  Dr. F (Ian Williams)

Dear son,

Happy 18th birthday.

Thank you for opening this letter to you not before this day as was my request written on the envelope.

I know that you are doing well, and looking through your eyes as I am right now, I can see many good friends about you with easy smiles that tell of their familiarity with your good nature. They are celebrating with you the shared freshness of youth and what that might give. How I am adoring to be there and to see you and hug you is beyond my words.

This night is the best time for me to let you know that being a young man is quite the miraculous thing that I never knew forty eight years ago. Your world is the one I never met then, and as an old man seeing from your future eyes I weep for nothing I did not have, but only for the absolute joy at what is before you and will remain forever.

As an MRA I am with others right now putting in place the reminders of terrible things that are coming slowly and surely to a close. We are recording everything for later inspection which is for you the remembering as a child the Feminist Trials that swept the world. Do you have the scrap book beside you? It was made by me for you to look upon with wonder just as I look in wonder that it is illegal for a man in India to remain sitting on a bus after a woman request he surrender his seat. Isn’t it amazing that these things actually happened?

My brothers and sisters are at our desks with pens and keyboards and some are with strong shoes that steam after a long day walking the streets with our messages. Our posters went up on walls in malls and posts on street corners and they broke the news about the sexual holocaust you’ve studied in school. For you this news is not included in the section called “Recent History” but “Modern History.” And like any grievance first told to then became the telling of the horrors of a humanity surrendered to bigotry and fear, your history books do not lie as they do not with other stories we know.

Germany and The United States, Bosnia, Cambodia and Uganda had their demons born from many people looking away while vessels of hatred were filled. Of course you know what happened when the hatred in those places in those times were tolerated. Those that hated had their kindness fatigued with repetition of inhuman acts and the people watched and many joined in with fear. You see, my son? Hating and fearing are lovers with eyes only for each other, and living together they die together. You take one away and like all sick lovers the other will be broken. We broke both their hearts and it took years and hurting passion to do it.

When you read about strange things as men going to jail and beaten to death because of the words of another only I want you to know those things did happen. When you watch old films of men thrown from trains, kicked in the groin on entertainment media and flayed alive in public for a rumour of bad things never done, do you ever wonder if it is fake? I assure you that what you are seeing was seen exactly as it happened.

Education was a nightmare for boys and they really were taught to be ashamed like the black person was from long ago and the Jew before them. Always there were the hating and the frightened watching and endorsing by their gaze somewhere else and now we know why and now we know this is part of our flawed design.

Where you live you have the stronger teacher of history, and there has been much time between you and me for many to write about these times. Your world is better for it and will not forget how the sexual holocaust came about just as the other did in Europe before World War Two.

Your history books talk lovingly of the MRA and you must also know that right now we suffer but we are not alone. Perhaps this is the thing that comforts us most? Maybe it’s the knowing of our being the vanguard that brought you a kinder place to live? I am not exactly sure what the answer is but I for one am comforted by the noise we make. Who would have thought that loudness would bring respite and that is quite ironic as you must surely know?

I will go now and please save a tear for another as you do not need worry about me. Do not be sad because we never met and better you find riches in bliss and tragedy and much in between. Enjoy your life that way in the way so many of us never could.

I love you.

Your Dad.