Kevin Hart, Katt Williams, and the Father I Left Behind
What two comedians taught me about forgiveness—and why everyone doesn't deserve a second chance.
What two comedians taught me about forgiveness—and why not everyone deserves a second chance.
Nothing about the COVID-19 pandemic was particularly fun. But while everyone else was terrified of a single cough—or toilet paper going extinct—my biggest struggle was the isolation.
Splitting rent with roommates is a foreign concept, so living alone was familiar territory. But as a social butterfly crammed back into his cocoon by a global quarantine, the only friends I had left were my thoughts and abandonment wounds.
They say an idle mind is the Devil’s playground, so when I wasn’t preoccupied with Clubhouse musicals or The Tiger King, I spent my afternoons climbing across those monkey bars—reflecting on the family who failed me and the scars they left behind.
After decades of pouring from an empty cup into a mother who felt far more filial than maternal, my survival instincts demanded distance. Which is why when my sister called to ask if our mom could expect to hear from me on Mother’s Day, a blunt response spilled out.
“Why would I do that?”
The entire purpose of Mother’s Day is to celebrate the women who’ve had a profound impact on our lives. To express gratitude for their guidance, honor their sacrifice, and relish their unyielding support. But since that sure as hell wasn’t my experience—quite the opposite, to be honest—I didn’t see the point in lying to either of us by handing out a consolation prize.
Nor would I pretend to.
In the following days, when my father—who became an afterthought after he cheated on my mom and discarded their marriage like a rotting carcass—got wind of this, apparently, he wasn’t happy.
That’s when a text came from a number I hadn’t seen in eternity.
“I hope Josh doesn’t have to do your job.”
Josh, of course, being my sister’s husband, with the implication being that the onus now fell on my brother-in-law to roll out the red carpet for Mother’s Day. And if he wanted to shower my mom with flowers and brunch reservations, then more power to him. Keeping my distance was purely about protecting my peace, not about punishment or animosity.
But more importantly, whoooooooo did my father think he was talking to me like that?
I don’t know what would possess a man I had barely spoken to for decades to think he could confront me about my decision, but since when does audacity care for rationale?
My therapist and I had spent months unpacking why I prioritize everyone else’s needs over my own. How I became hyper-independent because I quite literally never received any guidance or support from the same parents who were supposed to protect me from the rest of the world.
As a result, I became the overly attentive, compassionate person I never had, but lost myself in the process. Always speaking up for everyone else, but never advocating for myself.
So as I sat there stewing inside, staring at that text, I realized that after a lifetime of letting things go—constantly being the bigger person for everyone else’s benefit but my own—that it was no longer worth it.
So my thumbs fired back.
“I know this isn’t the same guy who invited me to his wedding two weeks in advance.”
It was true.
Years prior, before the coronavirus hurled the world into despair, he hit me with a last-minute “Oh, by the way!” invitation that just so happened to involve his third (or was it fourth?) marriage. But being a broke ass twenty-something at the time, a flight, a rental car, and a hotel on a whim wasn’t happening.
That wasn’t a problem for my sister, though—since she got her invite an entire year before mine.
It was a dick move on his part, and he knew it. So being reminded of something he thought I’d forgotten went exactly as you’d suspect.
“Then I guess I don’t have a son anymore,” he clapped back. “Have a nice life.”
I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder in my entire life than when I saw that text.
Whoooooooooooooooooooooo, boy.
Can we get the obvious out the way?
Clearly, my decision to distance myself from my mom didn’t warrant being disowned. But in that moment, my hysterical laughter didn’t come from hurt—it came from his delusion. For him to think that he was depriving me of something—his guidance, his protection—when I hadn’t had access to anything but his apathy since I was a child was actually hilarious.
Genuinely laugh-out-loud funny.
And as someone whose parents have done a number on me, I can acknowledge we all have demons. But whatever he’s fighting internally wasn’t my responsibility to fix—and I honestly felt like he was doing me a favor.
After a lifetime of disappointment and deceit, neither of us had to pretend anymore.
“Then get the fuck on then,” I typed back. “You never were a father anyway.”
I blocked the number, then indulged in my favorite pastime: an edible.
Which brings me to Katt and Kevin.
On Sunday night, during the Roast of Kevin Hart—the grand finale of the weeklong Netflix Is a Joke festival—after ripping the Jumanji “actor” to shreds in front of millions, Katt and Kevin squashed their longstanding beef. Considering these dudes have seemingly been at war since In Living Color got canceled, the magnitude of the moment wasn’t lost on me—or the rest of the universe.
“Me and this man have been at odds for years and years,” Kevin told the crowd. “Katt, we have an opportunity in real time—this is live television—to put our fucking beef behind us. I am offering you an olive branch of peace. I want to be a brother. I want to be a friend, Katt.”
Then they hugged and will presumably live happily ever after.
But while everyone else was in awe of the two icons, setting aside their pride and ego in the spirit of forgiveness, I immediately thought of my father. The same father who randomly texted me a few days ago after over six years of silence.
“I miss my son.”
I keep my ghosts in the past, so his anguish snuck into my Unknown Senders.
And it’ll remain there.
Before reconciliation can even begin with an apology—a nuisance he bypassed entirely—it starts with an assessment. And on the day he decided he no longer had a son, he lost the right to ever discard me again.
I can acknowledge a void, but I can’t miss a father I never had.
So while I’m happy for Kevin and Katt, and truly hope they’re able to build a fruitful relationship both personally and professionally, forgiveness is also about choosing yourself.
Not everyone deserves access to you.