Wednesdays with Words: Thirst

“I don’t have any excuses, Son,” he said to me. And it was odd to be called Son by a man I hadn’t seen in thirty years. It was odd to be anybody’s son. It felt right, but right for another time and another place and another story that never actually happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he cried. A tear came down his cheek, and he put down his beer and reached his hand over the arm of his chair to the couch, and I took his hand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice breaking with emotion. “Do you forgive me?”

“I do,” I said. “I forgive you.” And I did, even though I didn’t know I needed to. I forgave him and haven’t felt anything against him since. He took a sip from his beer and thanked me. He put his hand on my knee and squeezed till I thought my leg would break. He reached over and picked up my book and smiled and shook his head. “You can write,” he said in a voice that seemed to come from before time. “I can’t believe how good your stories are.” I didn’t want his words to mean anything. I didn’t want to need his affirmation. But part of our selves is spirit, and our spirits are thirsty, and my father’s words went into my spirit like water.

[A Thousand Miles in a Million Years, by Dennis Miller]

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Shelfie

Books on education, books on books, and books on words

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Current Reading
A History of Mathematics, Uta C. Merzbach and Carl B. Boyer
A History of Pi, Petr Beckmann
Introduction to Arithmetic, Nichomachus of Gerasa
Our Magnificent Bastard Language, John McWhorter
Waldo, Robert Heinlein
Let There Be Light: A Book About Windows, James Cross Giblin
The Old Farmer's Almanac, 2015 edition
Onward and Upward in the Garden, Katharine S. White
Music of Silence: A Sacred Journey Through the Hours of the Day, David Steindl-Rast and Sharon Lebell



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