I am thinking about the person who would call himself my father. I am thinking about an exchange between us
, six weeks ago, probably our last. I raised my voice against him, not in defiance, but for the first time, in admonition. With the power of my voice, I told him, without equivocation, that he was without honor. For the first time, I demonstrated my superiority over another, and who would that person be but the one individual to whom I am to always unquestioningly defer. He did not like it, and he has not spoken to me since.
What have I become? If I am wrong, then why did I allow it and why do I not repent? If I am not wrong, then why did this take so long? Had I found it within myself to have done this forty years ago, my life would be very different now. I would surely have had a much harder life, but is it possible that I would have had a much more fruitful life?
As much as I have lately fantasized, I cannot change the past. I cannot agonize over what was and will always be. But what can I do now
to find some measure of fulfillment, or is it the case that that opportunity is long passed, erased by what I then was not?
What am I? What am I to become?