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.