A Thanksgiving Morning Constitution
Memories of my father seem to be on my mind so much of late. I miss him. That seems odd in some ways. I was a mere 19 years old when he died. Old enough to have some very solid memories of him. Old enough to have known him as a child knows a father. But not old enough to know him as a person. On those very rare occasions when my family of origin would gather for an hour or two. That was all we ever did. We were never close. My brother's estranged themselves from my mother and I over thirty years ago. At first it seemed just the way life was, family, moving and such. But now I know it was deliberate. They had no use for their mother and they never took the time to know or care for their sister. When we would meet together, the bond between my brothers was solid. They would laugh and joke and reminisce about a father I didn't know. Often I thought them cruel and disrespectful, a strong characteristic o...