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Our Fathers, Our Failures
I saw my father for the first time when I was 19. He was also 19 at the time. It wasn’t how I pictured seeing him for the first time. It was more abstract and less tangible than I imagined. He didn’t react when I held him. He didn’t look back at me when I looked at him. He wasn’t trembling like I was. He was an inanimate object, just as he had been my entire life. He wasn’t curious about me like I was about him. He didn’t care about me like I cared about him.I didn’t stare at