He has an annoying habit of walking behind me. Sometimes it’s to talk with friends, other times coincidence, and at times I fear it’s just to distance himself from me, or avoid something I might have to say. The car isn’t much different…I’m Morgan Freeman and he’s Miss Daisy. The other night leaving the field was different. We walked out together. I didn’t have much to say, and neither did he, but we were shoulder to shoulder, one old, the other young, but undeniably getting older.
She’s not a kid anymore either, more like a woman. I don’t spend as much time with her one on one, and I regret it. It’s taught me though to cherish the little moments when she smiles or asks me how my day went. Over the last two years, I’ve worried most about her, but lately I’ve been feeling better. I went to her football game last week and we talked. The kind of talk a father lives to give, about life, goals, and plans to achieve them.
They are spending more time together, have some common friends. They still fight, fuss and know all the things to say that hurt the most, but those times are fewer. I sense a respect and comfort in each other’s company made easier by their own self-confidence.
I have lived with less character in 41 years than they have in 14. They are my pride, my joy, my twins, Bryson and Holland.
Happy birthday! I love you.
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