It just dawned on me that I didn’t speak to my father this Thanksgiving. The rift between us has obviously grown, and in such a way that it has become something I don’t think about much. I’m not proud of the fact that neither of us was willing to pick up a phone and go through the so-called motions, you know, the idle chit chat and awkward pauses. We have both failed to return calls over the last year, and we both never seem to care enough to call and apologize. Come to think of it I’m not even sure where he lives. A few months ago he sold his house in Florida and I haven’t heard anything about whereabouts since. I can find out easy enough though. Maybe by Christmas one of us will have made a connection….
You see, I keep this blog up, despite the fact that it keeps me awake when I should be sleeping, for a few reasons. One is because I love my son and I don’t want to be another forgotten black dad. Another is because I know my family life isn’t, and wasn’t perfect, which is something that others can relate to. And finally, blogging is therapeutic for both the writers and the readers; I live for the “ah ha” moments that come from reading other people’s stuff and knowing that even if we differ in opinion on matters of race or politics or parenting, we are bound by our love of our children and families. ‘Tis the season to be sappy!