Dad,
It’s been 20 years since you left us, and I miss you more as the years go by.
Having kids has opened windows into my childhood, Dad. Sometimes now, when I correct my two boys, I hear the powerful timbre of your voice inside my head. Kids need dads who can both kiss them on the forehead and occasionally quicken their pulse with a finger snap. You knew that.
Sometimes I forget how different our lives were. My childhood was Brady Bunch soft. You grew up in the Great Depression. I was a shy, lonely young adult. You manned-up and led young men into battle in Korea. I’ve been relatively healthy, your body was crippled with arthritis and your lungs were coated with the chemical muck of a mid-20th century war.
Maybe that’s why it always felt strained and unnatural when we talked — like a marshmallow trying to impress a grenade.