- Baby pictures
- Being able to pay the power bill
- My desk
- Thumb tacks
- Packaging tape
- Memories of good times
- Jesus Christ
- My kids’ faces as they open their gifts
- My boys getting along
- Being done with wrapping presents
- Central heating
- Not having to work today
What I’m writing is my memories. My version of events.
I don’t claim they’re an objective version of reality.
Memories are unreliable. They can change over time.
When you recall a memory you’re actually recalling the last time you remembered it.
I’m sure if I’d kept a journal my accounts would be much more factual.
Even then they’d be colored by my emotions.
I was three.
I only have a handful of memories about him.
After he died my male role models were my grandpas and Mister Rogers.
When I got older my Scout leaders became role models, too.
I wonder how I’d be different if my dad had lived. Would I be more masculine? Would I be a better father?
I used to worry that my sons wouldn’t be masculine enough because of me. I don’t worry about that anymore.