A Bottle
I have written this letter hundreds of times. Never sent.
I don’t know where the line is between when I should just suck it up and keep going and when it’s time to complain. I don’t know why those two things are seen as mutually exclusive. I’m soldiering on after many vocal complaints. Both can exist, I think.
I think my dad had a hard time with retirement. In the five months since stepping away he’d grown increasingly interested in me. I couldn’t tell if it was out of boredom or guilt for not having been more involved in my life up to that point. And though I never felt abandoned by him, it was nice—albeit strange—to get to spend some time with him.