My father was an enthusiast.   I once got angry at him when his food stamp card was rejected and I had to cover his groceries.  It was not about the cash.  I gave him a tough time when he did break my glass measuring cup.  It wasn’t only about the cup.  He remarked on a brand new haircut and I was enraged because he had seen it and I presumed that he was too drunk to recall.  It wasn’t about my own hair.   I drove him from doctor to doctor, from rehab to rehab, but that I was often short-tempered.  Visibly put out with what he wanted of me.  It was not about the moment.  He had been homeless for Several Years.

He used to stand on corners with a sign and ask for any cash or food folks were eager to give.  I adored him but I had been often embarrassed by him.  I was angry about my youth and what bled in my adulthood, and that I discovered some other method to take it out on him.  He has gone now and I am not mad at him anymore.  I am mad at just how much I allow my inability to forgive him influence our relationship.  Today He’s free and I am chained, weighed down with all of the grace I could not bear to give Someone who so completely was in need of it. Give forgiveness because  my regret over withholding it is more powerful  than most of the anger I felt during the years.


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