Your Father; A Short Letter to My Son

Your father and I met a million years ago, in a place across the country that felt across the universe. He was young, and foolish and sweet and perfect. I still think all of those things about him. I was young and a little less foolish and a little less sweet and a little less perfect. It’s true. He had had one girlfriend, me a lot of boyfriends, and our romance started and still exists in the little things. We don’t really give each other gifts. Maybe flowers, always a card, but never something that we’d have to really concoct. Nothing tangible....more