Hey Dad, what do you think about your son now? Few years ago, I wrote a letter to Javier and never meant to send it. A vent. Something written out of anger. As much as I say I practice certain Buddhist philosophies and practices, I can never put the anger behind me. Even after all these years of growing up, I’m still the angry child inside. Whenever I write about fathers and sons, I think about the worse. A son watches his father courting other women. A son knowingly speaks to his father without the latter knowing who sits before him. A father splattering his brains on the walls. A drunk beating his son. A drunk driving his son to murder. A drunk. A…