On aging and my father

Perhaps this is normal. I have to be.

I think of my father a lot. So much it almost seems wrong.

It makes me sad. It makes me weary. Although there are some good memories as well.

I look into the mirror and I see him. Staring at me.

I imagine it has to do with the fact that my first memories of him were at my current age.

He must have been right around 37-38. He was 31 when I first exploded on the scene.

I see him. Every day. As a young man. As me.

I feel this incredible amount of joy at seeing him as I remember him. Innocent and untouchable to my little eyes.

Every piece I want to write revolves around him and his influence, both the good and bad.

So, this will likely only the first on my memories and how they have shaped me.


By Teevee Aguirre