On Sunday Dad showed up to cut brush at our future
homestead. Did I say brush? I meant overgrown bushes containing angry,
shark-teeth-like throrns that pierce your skin from every direction while gripping
anything in its path without mercy… aka multiflora rose. For 3-1/2 long days, he cut, he burned, he sweat
and he bled. By the time he left, his skin was leather, his hair and eyebrows
were singed, there was blood dried onto his beard and his arms looked like he’d
been in a fight with a cat.
I had always suspected it, but as the week came to a close, there is no doubt what Dad’s love language is.
Love you too, Dad
No comments:
Post a Comment