Father and Son
He is a simple man. He who is at the final stage of his life putting all the pieces back together trying to tell a story re-arranged every time he tells it to fit the perfection of the energetic dynamic relationship of any and all interlocutors.
Someone as wise as him who put so much in the line after the dictatorship, giving the best possible tools to the black sheep; needs to know verbally, materialized feelings into paper or bits, that I’m proud to be his son and I know he poured his life into mine.
I am the black sheep.
The drop out, the strange, the rebel and the nuisance.
Once upon a time he stood before my grave and wept.
No father should bare the pain of burying one of his own.
No father can withstand the shock of transformation of his offspring. The mutation, the difference, the improvement disguised as flakiness, disregard for one’s own and failure.
No son should be left wondering in the woods by himself while the father, idle, walks away.
Often sons will feel embarrassment and emotions even stronger than that one towards his father. But in the world of fathers it would be considered sheer cruelty to feel these very same emotions towards the son.
Son, I love you.
Father I love you and forgive you as you have forgiven me, even before birth and death.
Wherever I go I take you with me, just like you once did back when I was a child and further back into your life.