“No man has ever lived that had enough of children’s gratitude or woman’s love.” –William Butler Yeats

I’ve never told him how I feel. Growing up, things were tough. I loved to have a good time and would go to any length to have that fun. “I can’t think of a single thing my father ever bought me,” he says, as I’m riding in the passenger seat. I shift uncomfortably in the jeeps’ cushiony chair. The problem is: I can’t relate.

In fact, I can’t think of a single thing my Dad hasn’t bought me. “This one time, I bought a bike at a garage sale. Total shit” he laughs, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel, “but – I grabbed this piece of crap for 5 bucks, and remodeled the entire thing from scratch”. I smile to myself, admirably. “The bike was perfect when I was done with it. I got home from school one day and couldn’t find it..” he trails off as if the memory stings just a little too much. “He said, oh, that bike? Yea I sold it” he finishes. I glance out the big side window. I don’t really know what to say and I usually always know what to say. I’m so good with words when I’m talking to any other man, but with him it’s different.

“I’ve always loved station wagons” he begins another monolog, “My aunt had a brand new 56 wagon that she promised to me when I could drive. I ran my permit to her house, teeming with excitement” he glances down at the speedometer, “my aunt looked at me in confusion, saying my dad gave it to our neighbors twin’s to race. It was junked weeks before”.

His Dad never watched him play baseball. Never showed up to one single game as he was growing up before he passed away. There was something so tragic about listening to the man I love tell me that someone didn’t care for him and love him as much as they should have. The memory of a boy who just wanted one single thing in life he’d never get the chance to see: the love of his father.

He’s on a role so I let him vent. Every time I went against my father, every time I thought I hated him, I realize, I was so wrong. After he finishes the heartbreaking accounts I lean over to the drivers’ seat and kiss his cheek before I finally tell him exactly how I feel, “Thanks for everything you’ve ever done for me, Dad”.