The Postmodern Pilgrim
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
In Praise of a Good Man
I'm of an age that I can look back with some perspective on my father. At one time I saw him as someone who was never there for his son, an absent father. And that is what he was. He worked ten hours a day, six days a week in a disreputable tavern in the west end of Toronto. Of course, being that he was working from noon until midnight, I never got to see him, let alone get to know him.There was a time I resented the fact that he wasn't there for me. And the few times that he was, he never hugged me or talked with me. He didn't know about such things. A poor excuse for a father, I told my therapist, and he agreed with me.
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posted at 02:02:23 PM | permalink
Monday, May 19, 2008
Letter to a Young Woman
It's not often that a young woman decides to chat me up in a coffee shop. But that's what happened a few days ago—a twenties-something blonde conversing earnestly with a stranger three times her own age. It was obvious she wanted something from me, but felt too uncomfortable to ask, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what it was. I had the feeling, as we parted company, that in some way, I had let her down. Later, I figured it out. She'd been curious to know what I had learned about life—this old man, three score and ten. In an attempt to somehow make it up to her, I began writing a letter, hoping I could find some way to get it to her.Dear Young Woman,
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posted at 05:41:41 PM | permalink
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