When I was 16,
my dad and I were on our way to meet my mom at a photographer’s studio downtown
to pose for our only professional family portrait ever. Walking from a nearby parking lot, he and I waited
in our uncomfortable suits to cross at an intersection near the studio, and as
the light changed, my dad grabbed my hand.
In that instant I was shocked and embarrassed that he had done it and
confused especially because as he was so rarely demonstrative of his affections
to me, but we walked across the busy intersection, my hand in his. I never really thought much about that
experience again until a few years later, after my dad passed away suddenly. As I reconciled with conflicted emotions his
leaving me so early, the memory of the embarrassing moment at the intersection that
day reminded and comforted me that his instinct was to protect me.
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