Hey Dad!
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjp_UJmPF_imxLXLPEOywqr6xQxO-aLk6E5d2QU6q1Ww8HbdnRiUre8LzdskNyJ4XNEvErMRl0T8foCmz1yN8bmwzWkjpmAVf-T_kNrWOiX3pf1a5GvHYv13gPAMaHcUvIZnhNGWgT38S31wX91GrKuklBLiZl8L7rTiYY7ne_u9sLp8z2RyCKP4tTZQ/s320/IMG20210520170028.jpg)
As I write this with a sense of angst and contrast, my Dad is sleeping in the other room. I am writing about a journey that was not all joyous. As the clock moved slowly through time, I wondered about the consequences of my action, but I wanted to pour my heart out and leave no stones unturned. I was born when my Dad was 40 years old. Maybe that is where the problems started. He was not there during the entirety of my childhood as he was working hard to ensure that there was food on the table. He stayed away from my mother and me until I was four. My mother told me the story of the first time I met my Dad. I waited for him at the airport along with my mother and uncle. My mother showed me pictures of my Dad to ensure we got along correctly. Finally, the flight landed on time, and my Dad came out of the airport. He stood on the other side of the rail and faced me. I stared at him and him at me. He saw me for the first time and just stood there and looked at me. Finally, my mum asked, ...