A Life of Wonder

Dear Father,

I never thanked you for the suit I never wore. That white suit freshly pressed and completely impractical. I suppose you wanted me to wear it interviewing for a big job you imagined I’d have one day . An insurance salesman or rental car manager. But a white suit dad?

You avoided touching white: avoided the white table clothing that mom spread on Sunday’s table; avoided baby Sarah’s white angel costume; and avoided touching your hands on crisp white paper fearful that they’d leave a black trace. I’ve seen you hide your greasy hands and nails caked in black.. When I was eight you asked me to help you rub away the dirty. I worked so hard with that bar of soap. You laughed and laughed knowing some stains don’t remove so easily. I’ve touched that suit so many times, but I still haven’t worn it once.

[-a work of fiction. photo via]