Glimpses
Mood:  sad
Topic: family
Every now and then I see glimpses of my father in other men, his arm, his profile, his hair. It's weird, but my relationship with my dad is like that - in pieces. There's the piece that calls every month to check in on me. The part that is mad at my life choices. The bit that is more concerned about his own life than mine. The piece that loves me, so much that he stopped drinking when I was born, worked as a day laborer when he was forced out of the military, and helped me when Ishmael was born.

I remember his heavy work boots and the smell of his aftershave in the mornings. But I also remember how tired he was when he came home and all he wanted to do was watch television. I remember how he actually turned the volume up when I tried to talk to him.

Our recent interaction still stings and I don't want to talk to him for now. I'll settle for these glimpses of strangers. I'll grieve over the fact that the sum of these pieces don't add up to the father I need.