The Price Of Fatherhood

My one and only public apology. Just for you, Happy Father’s Day.

Dear Daddy,

That time when I was nine, and your Mercury Head dimes went missing, Granny gave ‘em to me and sent me to the store to buy cigarettes. Sorry.

That time when I was ten, and you took me to New Orleans and I accidentally wet my pants and you had to spend money you didn’t have on some new clothes for me. Sorry.

That time when I was eleven and you spent an entire day taking me to boot stores in Birmingham, and I just couldn’t find ones I liked, I knew once I found them we would just go home, and even more than I wanted boots to tuck my jeans into like one of Charlie’s Angels, I really wanted to spend the day with you. I liked a pair in the first store. Sorry.

That time I wrote my initials and drew a heart around them on the fifth wheel of your truck just after you had it greased. Sorry.

That time when I was twelve, and I needed a dress for the Valentine’s banquet and you took me to the Warrior Mercantile and the lady told you I also needed a bra. Sorry.

That time when I went to Murphy’s furniture store and picked out a recliner and had it delivered to you for Father’s Day, and you liked it so much and asked me how I paid for it and I told you I charged it to your account. Sorry.

That time when you took off work a whole week to stay with me before I had David and then I went into labor the day after you left. Sorry.

All the times you had to whip me and all the times you had to do without, so I wouldn’t have to, I guess I should be sorry for those too. I’m really more grateful than sorry.


The “good” One

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9 thoughts on “The Price Of Fatherhood

  1. What a thoughtful and insightful post. Reminded me of similar events like how the family car mileage seemed to climb although the gas gauge never changed and I suggested my dad was just getting older. I liked the pics and think David resembles your father’s facial features.

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