Adding this apparently necessary author's note. Making peace isn't about telling the other party what they did was okay. It's about owning your part of it, so you can set it free and be done with it. I'm sad that anyone mistook this for House condoning whatever sort of abuse he might have suffered at the hands of his father. Because that's not what it's about at all. Also bear in mind that this is MY VERSE and all that's happened to House in it is what was discussed. (See Sixty Minutes With Dr. Nolan)

Three Down; Home Free

Dear Dad,

I'm supposed to write this letter so I can get closure. I think it's silly to write a letter to someone who is no longer living. But my shrink is very convincing. That's right. I'm seeing a shrink. He says that if I do this, I'll be able to move on. And so far he hasn't steered me wrong. So I'm humoring him.

I'll just cut right to the chase. I spent the majority of my childhood hating you. Much of the time, I had no idea why. I'd always told myself that I wanted you to die, that my life would improve without you in it. During my adult life, I saw you as little as possible. Then you died, and I realized that nothing had changed. I didn't feel any different. Nothing was actually better. Instead of feeling glad that you'd finally gone, I felt empty and alone.

It's no secret that I wasn't the most well behaved kid. I found myself in trouble more often than not. And I knew that by the time you'd uttered the words we need to talk, my fate had already been decided. I don't think you realized that the anticipation alone was punishment enough. Sometimes I think it was actually worse. My stomach would churn and my mouth would go dry and I would struggle to hold in any sort of emotional reaction, so as not to let you see just how very terrified I really was. And since we're baring all here, I will tell you that I was terrified. I'm sure you know this already. But you were a genuinely scary guy. Which is probably a great quality to have if you're a drill sergeant. Not so great if you're a dad.

I think that over the years, the memory of my childhood and related events has morphed considerably. I once looked at my your methods of discipline as abusive, which I suppose they were to some extent, or at least by the technical definition. But other times I wonder what might have become of me, had you never laid a hand on me at all. I am thoroughly convinced I would be behind bars, and I mean permanently.

I have admittedly been arrested at least a dozen times in my adult life, and done some even more questionable stuff that I would just prefer you never know about. But somewhere in the recesses of my mind are the excerpts of speeches that I tried very hard to ignore, the details of which being explanations of how you would rather cause me some temporary suffering then, if it would spare me years of suffering later on.

And I can honestly say that at the age of fifty, after months of therapy and painful introspection, my perspective of you has evolved quite a bit. When once I would have loathed to admit it, I now have no qualms about saying I wish I’d listened to you, at least a little bit. I wish I’d realized that you weren't trying to make me miserable, but you were just hoping to save me from my own stupidity, and boy was there a lot of it.

I wish that your discipline had been sufficient to put an end to my inherent need to rebel against pretty much everyone and everything. I think I could have spared myself countless years of self imposed misery if it had. I realize now that there was a point at which parenting me was comprised almost exclusively of damage control. I had no sense of danger, no regard for personal safety, no respect for authority, and no concept of consequences. I engaged in behavior way beyond typical adolescent rebellion, the likes of which (in hindsight) were probably deserving of far worse than whatever you ended up doling out.

Amidst the transgressions I’ve held against you are rather biased assessments of your character, most of which formed when I was less than half your stature. You were judgmental, hard, cold, unloving, had unrealistic expectations, couldn’t be pleased. The list could go on and on.

I realize that I am no better a person now than you ever were then. I realize that I am no more capable of trusting, of loving, of being satisfied. I would make no better a father, do no more right by my son, be no more worthy of his respect. I realize now that you loved me in the only way that you knew, which sadly doesn’t often doesn’t translate well to a stubborn, socially isolated youth. You loved me as much as you were capable of loving anyone. And I wish it had been enough. I wish I could have seen it for what it was. I wish I could have told you I was sorry for being such a pain in the ass. I wish I didn’t have to be drugged and kidnapped, just to show up to your funeral.

You were a man who happened to be in love with a woman who made a mistake, and that mistake resulted in me. You didn’t have to call me son and for some reason you did. I can’t go back in time. I can’t fix these things. I can only go forward. So I do this for you. For you I will finally live out these valuable lessons. I will try not to let my handicap define me. I will struggle to resist the urge to self medicate. I allow others to help me, even when I doubt that it will matter. I will try harder to treat people the way I want to be treated, and acknowledge it when they do the same for me.

I don’t know what I believe, if there’s a heaven or a hell. Maybe there’s nothing. Or maybe there’s something else besides this, something better. All I can hope is that somehow you see this, know this, realize that I finally got it.

Whether I like it or not, you're always going to be my dad and I will always be your son.

I’m sorry it took so damn long to figure that out.

Love, Greg.