Yesterday, Aaron called his dad to say “happy father’s day” and I soon heard Aaron answering lots of questions about how we’re doing—Clara is happy, healthy; Aaron got to play his saxophone with old friends; we were going for a hike where we got married. It went on like that for awhile, and Aaron said, “Happy Father’s Day. I love you, Dad.”
I called my dad next, who was eating chicken and yellow rice, prepared for him, at Tim and Sam’s. He sounded really happy to be there. I called to say “happy father’s day” but, like Aaron’s dad, my dad started to talk about me, to tell me that even though he doesn’t comment, he reads my blog every day, he likes what I have to say, he thinks writing could be something for me, he thinks I’m talented.
A long, long time ago, my mom told me I would need to spend my life with someone who liked adventure, but I liked books, so I wasn’t sure that she was right. She was, which is why I go to my mom to learn more about who I am.
But I go to my dad to learn more about who I can be. Just when I think I don’t have the energy for aspiration, I talk to my dad, and I think, maybe I could. I know you’re reading and that you’re always out there–I love you, Dad:)