Ficly

Woodworker

“I always admired your work.”

“The fact that you can say that is simply tribute to my failure as a father. All of those days I spent toiling at the shop were days I spent hiding from my responsibility at home. I had, and still have no idea how to handle this, how to be a husband, and a father.”

“I think you were a great father.”

He laughed at that. “That would be your Mother’s unfailing kindness speaking through you. With her gone, I guess there wouldn’t be a reason for you to stay.”

“Well, with the new baby, its just better to be close to Lisa’s parents. I promise we’ll come to visit as much as we can.”

He kept his gaze fixed on the furniture, his rough hand moving as though to test the strength of the wood. The finely crafted spindles and rails were immaculate, a crib and chairs and tables all meant to furnish his grandson’s room.

“I haven’t been there to teach you, but learn from my mistake. Spend time with your family now, don’t wait for them to slip away.”

That was the last time I saw my father.

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