(This was written March 22)
I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad.
It makes sense: the anniversary of his death was less than a month ago. But the strangest thing about my father’s passing is how long it took to affect me.
Maybe it’s the softness that develops with old age. Since I’m now an ancient 33 years old (the same age Jesus was when he was crucified), I’ve definitely started getting sappier. Like, cry-during-a-pasta-commercial sappy. OK, so that hasn’t actually happened, but there are a variety of situations that will result in tears now.
Continue reading “A little about Venice; and a lot about my dad”