Two days later I finally decided I wasn’t going to let my dad avoid me forever. I pulled up in front of the house I grew up in, ready for a fight, if that’s what it took.
The front door opened as I got out of my car. My dad was silhouetted by the light behind him and for the first time I could remember, he looked old. I never thought of either of my parents as old, even growing up, but 58 appeared to be weighing on my dad in ways I’d never noticed before.
Or maybe it was our impending conversation.
“I wondered when you’d show up,” he said by way of greeting.
I walked straight into his embrace and let him hold me for a minute. No matter what, he was still my dad, and I could use some of his encouragement, even if it was so I could talk to him and not fix something else.
Dad and I had a
