Worlds Of Our Fathers

Children love and hate to fight with the old man

Every so often I dream that I am with him. It is always the same situation. We are at home--the home where I was a child--and he is telling me something instructive. (What else would he be telling me?) I try to pay attention, but I am so happy to see him alive that I simply stare at his face. When I begin to wake up, I struggle to crawl back into sleep, into the dream, like a fish flapping breathlessly at the edge of the ocean.

I used to feel like a fish out of water in his presence too,...

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