My father is but a man
September 28, 2012 @ 4:23 p.m.
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       It took a simple, but heated call from an angry father. A phone call of mistaken identities. It was after-- a man forsaking his arrogance and pride and bathed in tears-- that crumbled my wall of hurt and righteous anger.
       I forgave my father.
       I was no longer seething in wounds I often mistook for hate. No. I, for the first time in more than a decade, knew no bitter aftertaste with the love I felt for the man.
       And it is a lighter love. A free love.
       There are still times I do not like him. Times my clenched jaws lead to headaches. But at least, I understand him.
       And I love him.


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