“What is your address,” asked my Father while signing his forms.
It paused my thought for a second, “What? After all these years, you don’t even remember where I live?”
”Terrible, isn’t it? I’m sorry, but I’m going to change,” said my Father, with a grin on his face.
What he said wasn’t funny, except he thought the grin would waive the embarrassment.
I kept silent for a moment, searching for words in my head, thinking of something nice to say, I didn’t find the right word.
Then, my Father began to talk about his investmengs and his love life, I sat there, but I wasn’t listening.
I couldn’t ease my mind for a while, learning the fact that my Father doesn’t know my address... “Did I even tell him in the first place?” I asked myself without disrupting the conversation.
I knew I was looking for a reason, a reason to forgive him, a reason to blame myself and not him; but I couldn’t find a better answer.
”Are you listening,” asked my Father, annoyed by my lack of attention.
I nodded with a smile, and got engaged with his discussion; I didn’t want to upset him, and I didn’t tell him if I wasn’t happy; but sometimes I wonder, if what’s not spoken, is what scaring our Father and son relationship.
ns 172.69.7.74da2