Love is so f*cking complicated, isn’t it? I miss my father’s laugh and smile, his singing, all those things that comfort me when I reflect on my own life as a father. Yet: I don’t miss the fear of him, his fury and depths of anger as he lashed out against the world, against flesh, against the gravel and potholes of all those sidestreets of Southwest Detroit.
Home [Photo credit: Author]
Dad and Ceci [Photo credit: Author]
This post was previously published on Medium.
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Photo credit: Author [Uncle Roque with his pet chicken]
