All Comments By

Thank you this is most helpful.

Reading this reflection helps to reconcile to what is - neither good nor bad - to touch the deathless.

When ma son was wee he said to me it a huff da a don't love you and a said tae him son a love you no matter wit and that stopped the hissy fit. And writtin this in the vernacular of ma scots tongue is an expression in an' off itself of me mettin ma authentic need fir expression assumin the wirld will accept me as who a um.

At the door my son face bloodied. "Its not as bad as it looks, dad." Separated during the attack I found his friend unhurt. Enraged I went looking. A solitary bumble bee jumpered gang member on a street corner stood. We pretended to each the other a not knowing. Then I saw him. As my son. Someone's son. Unable to add to the suffering I walked away. The police later "caught one" some father's son.