I am very excited to say that today marks the official kickoff of the #31forMARISSA campaign.

The wonderful writer Darnell L Moore submitted a poignant letter that begins:

Dear Marissa,

It was a cold and dark Christmas Eve—sometime in the mid 80’s. My mom, my three sisters, and I lived in a small, but comfortable, house on Maryland Street in Camden, NJ. We smiled a lot. According to the pictures I recently stole from mom, my sisters and I donned big smiles and tight ass corduroys. What’s interesting to me some twenty-plus years later, however, is the hard fact that I cannot remember my smile, I cannot reach back and grasp the joy I possessed, because on many days—not unlike the particular Christmas Eve that I am recalling right now—I watched in horror and fear as my father used his heavy hands or feet or words to brutally attack my mother.What was he thinking or not thinking? What was he feeling or desiring to feel that would make him harm the woman who loved him?

A child should not have to help his mom wrap the many gifts that she purchased on her minimum wage income, write dad’s name on the gifts per her instruction, watch dad walk in the house with one of his peeps after he had been gone all day and week, bear witness to an argument that he started because she—according to him—purchased too many gifts, and then witness his dad beat the woman who cared enough to make him legible despite his absence. It was Christmas Eve, Marissa! There were no sounds of sleighs, jingle bells, carols, and laughter. None. Fist hitting mom’s face. Hair being pulled. Mom’s body being tossed…were dad’s gifts to us. And I cannot forget that evening even if I tried. I also cannot forget the brother that was with him, who watched and did nothing.

Read the rest of the letter here. We welcome more support from men everywhere.