These Silent Woods

by Kimi Cunningham Grant

I remember before I was a parent, overhearing fathers talk at the grocery store or a restaurant, and someone, maybe the waitress or something, would ask the kid how old they were. And usually the kid would answer, if they were old enough. But more than once, I saw the father answer wrong, a year behind or something, like there was a birthday party in there that he’d missed, and the kid or sometimes the mother would correct him.

Why are fathers like this?

I’d come home and cashed it all and locked it in Lincoln’s safe because if there was one thing I was sure of in those days, it was that you couldn’t trust the banks.

Trueeee

All faults may be forgiven of him who has perfect candor.’ That’s Whitman and I know you remember.” She points to the couch. “We were sitting right there when you read it to me. I asked you what it meant and you said no matter what happens in life, you should be honest. Be a person of honor.”

The thing about grace is that you don’t deserve it. You can’t earn it. You can only accept it. Or not.