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100 Words on Love, by Kirsten Clodfelter
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Weekday mornings, I’d find them next to a bowl of dry cereal or buttered toast gone cold. I was always running late, sometimes still high from sneaking out overnight to meet friends, but there was a thing my father had about presentation, arrangement. For that stretch of years, we spoke without always hearing the other. An exercise in following through.
I understand now there might come a time when my own daughter looks at me and thinks, Stranger? I’ll remember to keep my anchors small, so that no matter how adrift, it’s easy for her to find the way back.
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Happy 60th birthday to one of the very best men I know.
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