People at work today, are talking a lot about their heritage and roots and all that. Exchanging stories about their fathers and that side of the family. Talking about Christmas traditions and when they got their first car, how involved their father was. I’m just sitting at my desk with nothing to contribute to the conversation. Tearing up at the constant reminder that I have no idea if I’m Greek, Germain, French. Only assuming that I look like my father since I don’t look much like my mother. That my father didn’t care what my mother named me or what I do with my life or who I date. Weather I went to college. He never took me fishing or chased my boyfriend out of the house with threats of killing him if I was out past 10. Most days I don’t think about it too much. I had a great childhood. I didn’t have a father but I had my grandfather. When I’m in an office surrounded by people that are talking about it -loudly-, I start to think, and I really don’t have much to say. I have to really breath so I don’t tear up enough that people notice. The only time I went fishing was with Franks father. I caught one, he was so happy he gave me a hug and took a picture.
She is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.
