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The stranger tells me that I strongly resemble his father. Then he pulls me to the side and asks me to apologize for how often I’ve been cruel to him. He's confused. That's okay. I'm confused, too. I’m not his father but I am my sons' father, so I quickly gather lumber and build an unsteady chapel then I kneel at the ramshackle pew and beg this stranger to forgive my fatherly sins because I need my sons to forgive me, too.
The gift of unburdening another's pain, to include your own while you're at it, a rare blessing.
As we get older, it all goes back to that, our perception of ourselves, recognizing our imperfections and then wondering how our children or child will deal with the humanness of what we are... A lovely poem...I've published one book of poetry and am in the process of slowly putting together my second. It sure does take time though...