The word itself is a symbol, indescribable strength, manifestation of will.
But this one in particular is so much more.
I’ve seen and felt the love. I’ve witnessed the transformations, the seemingly impossible dichotomies.
The man that knows no life other than providing for his family, he who wants so much to see his children happy, with definition and perception from his own time, fits and struggles to understand these new ones, with their own ideas so different from his own, even contradictory, even antagonistic, and yet he tries with all his might, until his face is red and the veins are about to burst.
And still the thing he wants the most is to see his children happy and to understand these… strangers?
I’ve seen and felt the love. I’ve witnessed the transformations, the seemingly impossible dichotomies, the unconditional acceptance, indeed full support – the new ones and their ideas, miles and miles apart – and I’ve seen the pain and the hurt, and I knew he was crying inside.
What happened? Where did the change occur? How do children become adults? And why?
I’m afraid he might be thinking, “Who are these… strangers?”
I’m still the little boy dad, and I want to hold your hand. You can tickle me if you want, you can make me pee my pants, and we can race each other in the backyard, and we can listen to music in the dark, and we can go on a picnic in the park, even when mom says we should be at church, and you can keep me up for hours talking about your plans and filling me with wisdom that I might understand.
Love is in the effort, and the effort has been grand.
