Spring 2004
LETTER TO MY FATHER
William on his balcony
I am sitting on the balcony you loved so well and look at the flowers you
tended with such care. I took them for granted until you left us. They are
still here, in mum?s care. And now I grow my own, and know the secret that
every bloom brings. It is a blessing. A message of grace. As I sit down to write
this letter, I am taking yet another journey with you, but this time it is a trip
back into what, I now realize, is a story of uprooted and reconstructed
identities.
Even as adults, my sister and I called you 'daddy.' It was a term of profound
affection, and in no way did it diminish us or infantilize our relationship with
you. In fact, even our mother called you “daddy” occasionally. She laughed
when we asked her why and said that we had started imitating her as
toddlers, calling you Willy. So she, ever the model, decided to rectify the
situation, fearing it may appear disrespectful in our profoundly patriarchal ?6?6?WG?f?"Gv??V"???BF?6???W"fF?W"'???2f?'7B??R?