We will never be friends

These words were muttered from my father

He sat stone faced back towards me

I was 9 years old. A frail scared boy holding in my bated breath

My father was a man of contradiction

He was a natural charmer

He knew how to tell jokes

He knew how to command a room

I would observe from afar in wonder

Attempting to understand this man and in turn myself

Who was he

Why was he so capable of showing his humanity to others but not to his own kin

He was quiet at home

Stern and serious

I knew he was wounded but refused to heal

I am no longer a boy.

I am a man.

I am still his son.

And I wish I could tell him that I’ve been his friend all along.