Yes, this is a blog

It might not have been evident at face value, but my dad was a sensitive man. Not everyone got the privilege of seeing that side of him, but beneath his quiet and reserved exterior was a tender soul full to overflowing with emotion, well acquainted with sadness and regret but also great joy and love. I’m thankful now that my main example of masculinity was a man who could cry watching The Notebook and also knew how to replace a car radiator. He taught me time and again there was no weakness in compassion and in doing so broke another of many generational curses in my family. People keep telling me how much I remind them of him. The most I can say is that I’m trying.  As I write this I am 33 years old, my wife Gabby and I just celebrated our 1-year wedding anniversary, and in a matter of days we’re going to be bringing a baby into the world. Somehow right in the middle of all of this, my dad has died. To have this kind of tragedy coincide with so much good has overwhelmed me, and I ...

He remembered waking in the crisp night air to his father snoring and his brother face-up beside him dead asleep. His eyes opened to the inside of the plastic tent, the crinkling of it with the softest disturbance of wind. Lying on an air mattress and beneath it the bare dirt and grass ground of southeast mountain country. Camping, yes. A long weekend right after the end of tenth grade. Memorial day, it must've been. And still it was near freezing. Teeth clattering and fingernails blue even this late in May. In this remote wilderness, this high precipice.  He recalled some subversive curiosity animating him that night. Considered an arbitrary whim of hormonal post-adolescence, perhaps something else. He’d gently risen from the air mattress and tiptoed to unzip the tent. A slight rustling from dad but nothing more. Hunched over he stretched his legs in long circumspect strides over him and his brother and stepped outside in not much more than his socks and orange sweatshirt into a n...