What Fathers mean to us

I love this memory of my Father growing up. When I was a kid my Dad spent a lot of time down the shed and their was this old tree stump all rotten with a hole gouged in it full of dead woodlice. In the rings more woodlice would just go round and round until they ended up falling in this damn pool so I asked my Dad if he could help these woodlice and he looked all lost in thought then came out with a chisel and bashed a wedge in the ring and said that they’d be alright now. The next woodlice crept out through the valley my dad bashed into the tree and went down the bark saved. Later on when it got dark he told us it was a spaceship and we just bought it all because he made a whooshing noise that sold it. Years later when he lost his Dad he ripped that tree stump clean out the ground and watched it burn the night orange. My Dad became so serious after that but he’ll always be the man who saved the woodlice and occasionally see I was at heart a daydreamer making his way to that black water life had in store for me. Black rain and clear hearted.

Love your Fathers for they are spacemen.

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