I’m writing to you because your dad is not well.
Every day he continues his spiral downward—and after his call for gun owners to commit acts of violence against Mrs. Clinton, it is clear he needs help, serious help. His comments and behavior have become more and more bizarre and detached from reality. He is in need of an intervention. And I believe only you can conduct it.
He trusts you. He believes in you. Although I don’t know you personally, you seem to be a very smart and together woman. I think he will listen to you. He must because he is now not simply a danger to himself, he has put the next president of the United States in harm’s way. He has encouraged and given permission to the unhinged and the deranged to essentially assassinate Hillary Clinton. Her life is now in worse danger than it already was—and should anything happen, that will not only be on his head but also on those closest to him if they stand by and do nothing.
I say this with the utmost kindness, care and concern for you, and I know you will do the right thing. Bring him in, off the road, away from the crowds. Now. Tonight.
And when you do, here is what a good friend of mine, a former counselor and social worker, Jeff Gibbs, suggests that you say to him:
Dad, we need to have a chat. Are you feeling okay? Do you have a minute? Please sit down. Because this isn’t going to be easy. No, I am not pregnant. No, what is going on is… is… I am really, really worried about my father. About you.
Dad, I owe everything to you. You’ve built an empire, a brand and a business for the ages. You have taken care of me, inspired me and, through your example, have made me who I am: a self-confident, honest-to-a-flaw, woman.
But Dad, I am deeply worried. You haven’t been yourself lately. The father I know is not a hater, not someone who encourages violence. Dad, you used to be A LIBERAL. You raised me as a liberal! The Clintons were your friends—Chelsea is one of my best friends! And now you’re joking that Hillary should be assassinated? Really?
Dad, I hate to say this, but you’re making me scared, you’re making my friends scared, and you’re scaring the whole country.
Dad… Dad, sit down! They’ll wait. I am not finished. Don’t get angry. Try to listen.
Yes, I know they love it, the crowd goes wild. But not for YOU. They don’t love YOU. They love the show that you put on. But people who hunger for red meat will turn on you in a minute. No, they don’t love you. I love you. I will always love you. And I see you hurting yourself—and you’re hurting ME, Dad.
Don’t get upset! You’re still the handsomest billionaire I know. I will always love you. Melania will always love you. Vladimir will always love you… OK, maybe that wasn’t funny. But you get my point. This running for president thing is destroying the dad I have known and loved. And honestly, you and I both know you didn’t really want this job to begin with! You just wanted to make a point. OK, well, POINT MADE! You did it! Now, let’s stop and get some help.
I am asking you, right now, to give it up. To leave the race. Let that nice man from Indiana run things. Your place in history is secure. You need to withdraw. Move on, for your sake, for the country’s sake, for my sake.
The man who raised me was the man who, for no charge, built a huge ice rink in Central Park for all the people to use! You struck deals with some of the biggest assholes on the planet in finance and politics and yet remained friends, mostly. You built a family that loves you. I want that dad back! And I worry that, if you don’t stop now, neither you nor the country will ever recover.
There, there, Dad, it’s okay, let it out. Let it out, because I know beneath that gruff, tough, handsome exterior is a little boy who just never got enough love. And that little boy needs some time to find himself again.
Let’s you and I walk out there right now. The cameras are all set up and waiting. You can make up whatever excuse you want. You can blame whomever you want. You’re good at that! I just know this can’t go on, and you know it, too.
Take my hand, let’s end this. And by tomorrow you and I will be sipping martinis on our yacht in the Hamptons with Chelsea and the friends we still have left. I love you, Dad. Let’s do this. That’s right, take my hand, here we go…
Ivanka, I have faith in you that you can do this. I know I’ve called your dad crazy before, but I was speaking politically, not clinically. This has gone beyond crazy. The entire nation—in fact, the entire world—needs you to step forward and do the courageous thing history will praise you for: the loving act of a brilliant daughter who also loved her beleaguered country enough to say her father wasn’t well and needed help.
Thank you, Ivanka.
Reprinted without permission (author unknown)