“…And I wish I could tell you in appropriate words,
how very proud I am of you; not for what you have been, and not for what you are
Not the least among these things is the quiet reassurance I have in my heart,
that you will love me even when the years grow even heavier upon my shoulders,
and the burdens of Life continue to take their inevitable toll,
and inscribes upon my forehead – 'vacancy.'"
Happy Father’s Day! This is my dad and me in 1979. The summer before we’d been homeless for a spell staying at the Salvation Army, living off the relative kindness of strangers. Eventually, my dad had enough money to rent a room in an old hotel above a Western Auto. It was located in a small town in the Arkansas River Valley along the southern edge of the Ozark Mountains. I loved that town. It had a nice pond. My dad made me a homemade fishing pole and taught me to tie the line and bait the hook. I loved catching and releasing perch. I loved playing in the rushing creek. If the water was low I could cross it jumping from rock to rock — as a shortcut to Wal-Mart where I longed to buy a $1.99 tube top.
Gen-Xers share a collective persona but no two Gen-X childhoods look quite the same. My childhood is just one illustration in the would-be documentary of #GenerationX.
Dad — I love you. I always will. I forgive you. And, please forgive me. I know you do.
Please share a nice story about your dad in the comments if you can.