A letter to my father

Dad,

I might start by saying that I'm not sure what I'm going to write, and whatever I do, you might not understand. Is that because I'm not sure that you understand me? Not sure. Perhaps I can't explain to you really what I want to say because I don't really know.

There were some things I never understood about you. Still don't. There seemed to me always a laissez-faire atmosphere about you. About you about me. I think perhaps what really was going on was that you didn't know how to be a dad. You did of course, but you weren't confident about it. Yes, that's it. Were you a confident father? I didn't get that impression. Did I need that? I'm not sure.

The one thing I admire about you though is that you never seem to let your frustrations get the better of you. You just take it all in. Absorb it. I never learnt anger from you. This is a good thing.

I'd written this letter before. Many years ago. It read very different to this one. The last one was filled with misunderstood shame and disappointment. A splash of resentment. I was young and naive. My years add respect to yours. As my wisdom grows, yours becomes apparent. Yet strangely, I can't help but think that luck played a strong part.

Emotions have unique ways of presenting themselves. We all know when you have things bottled up. You pace and frown. You look down and you look down. You get busy doing nothing. I am the same. You know, I don't know what you are passionate about. I am the same. But just because you do not have a passion, does not mean you are not passionate.

I wonder if you are happy. Like really. Is the journey enough or is there an end in mind? I wonder if I can answer the same? Sorry for the random babble. Perhaps this is more a letter to myself than it is to you.

Definitely looking forward to seeing you in a couple of weeks time. I'll make us pizza and share a beer. Sit and chat about nothing. Just be in our space together, where we are comfortable. Like two brothers. Like nothing has changed. Or ever will. This is what we do, and what I miss. The understanding that exists without words.

M