Father

I loved you after the time had passed. You probably loved me then too. Both too late. I was a twerp. You were an ass. Neither of us wanted to be. I remember hating you with a hate that stung so sharp that tears welled in my eyes. How must you have felt to have to look upon this? As badly as I? Or worse? Yes, worse I think. I did not know that I did not exist without you. I sat in the top of a tree, desperate with love, waiting one night, and when your car finally showed up and rolled into the garage, I hated you even more, for all was well after all. You were eternal, indestructible. In fact, I loved you that much. May I tell you now? I'm sorry that your favorite, your first son died and left only me. Your boots left marks in the mud ahead of mine. My feet might have fallen into your boot soles had I not so carefully avoided it. Is it not ironic that you taught me everything I knew without for a moment meaning to? On the rocky shore, shivering, we sat side-by-side, two Budweisers between us, smoking, carefully silent as we shared the thrills of the day, lying slick and speckled in our creels. I asked you something and you did not answer because you already knew that I should have already known. "Father … how do you know where the fish are?" But honestly, I did not ask, except in my head. Words were no more available to me than to you. I watched you die. The light of your blue eyes rested as they faded once more on me. And I could think of nothing to do but to embrace my mother. Sir … Father … Dad … How do you know where the fish are? I know you have shown me all along. Nonetheless. Can you show me again?