On Father’s Day

This Father’s Day, I’m struck with a rather inelegant image. It is of my father, bent over a toilet and giving a preliminary hand-rinse to a pile of stinky cloth diapers. A task which, thanks to engineering and paper and plastic, I am spared. So I’m more than a little humbled and awed by such an act of devotion and sacrifice.

So on my first Father’s Day, I only want to grasp some of that gritty, smelly stuff of life. To posess the heart and soul that would give his life away, one minute at a time. Until that life morphs into another life that would give in some like manner.