After writing about it I have been able to let go of the resentment that plagued me towards my father. He is doing his best to maintain some semblance of a faded life that has no more to look forward to except the next meal. His worries are few although they loom large in his shattered mind. Where are my keys, my wallet? When are the Yankees playing next? What’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner?
I hear the click click as his four legged walking stick moves inexorably closer to where I am. It will take some time however not to dread the sound but embrace it as a test as to gauge where my patience and tolerance reside in that very moment. My father sired me and for that I am grateful to be his son and the past must stay in the past as he did the best he could with the resources he had.
As a parent many times over I can attest to the fact that we all do our best. Parenting like anything else is a learning experience. We make many mistakes along the way. Unfortunately our first born suffer most of the consequences. I'm glad you are beginning to forgive him. It's true he did his best with the tools he had at the time.
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