All Dads Don’t Fit into One Perfect Box: My Dad, The Dark Side, and the Gift of Forgiveness
My father became a dad when he was just twenty years old. My mother was nineteen. Now that I am the same age my father was when he left this world, I find myself looking back through a different lens. I see things I couldn't see as a child. I see strengths. I see wounds. I see mistakes. Most importantly, I see humanity. My dad had a lot of anger in him when I was young. But he also had a remarkable ability to nurture curiosity, imagination, and creativity. I loved aviation as a child. Amelia Earhart was my hero. My very first book report was about her, and my dad helped me write it. He taught me about the history of flight. He took our family on educational adventures whenever we could afford them, places like Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, where the Wright brothers first flew, and the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in D.C. Math was difficult for me. REALLY difficult. My dad spent countless hours at the dining room table drilling flash cards with me. Later, he tried to help me under...