A Sober Reflection
I didn’t know why the rabbits needed to be fed that morning when, by noon, their blood would drip from my fingers. But Dad, who’d moved us to rural Indiana in the hope of escaping his alcoholism, was determined. He delivered his edict while stirring two saccharin tablets into his coffee (“clink, clink” still reverberates in my head). “It’ll build character,” he said. I focused on those words later when we pulled the hide from the carcasses’ flesh. Years passed before Dad would admit he regretted that day, and even more years until I’d realize a father’s love shouldn’t wound. — Melissa Fast
One Wedding Band
After decades of dating — being ghosted, love-bombed, dismissed — I gave up. Not on love, but on waiting. In 2012, I bought a tungsten wedding ring for myself. I wore it on my right hand. Years later, I moved it to my left hand, a quiet act of defiance and devotion. I’m now my father’s caregiver. I don’t have time for romance, but I’m surrounded by love: chosen family, old friends and my own resilience. The ring reminds me that I’m not alone. The truth is, I never was. I married myself. And I’m still wearing the ring. — Lawrence Everett Forbes
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The post Tiny Love Stories: ‘A Father’s Love Shouldn’t Wound’ appeared first on New York Times.
