These were the kinds of things I wanted to share with you. Man things. Things a father ought to tell his son. But you weren’t interested. Even as a little boy, you thought I was cold and mean. Perhaps I was. But I was a man. I was a man the way I’d been taught to be a man. People respected that. I stayed on the same job forty years because of it. I supported you and your mother because of it. I own a house because of it. You have an inheritance because of it. Never did I think I’d have to apologize for being a man. But, like I said, the world changed faster than I could.
