Words of my Father
There is only one word in the English language which adequately describes my father. Magnificent.
His mother was Cherokee. (Records denote approximately 80 percent, according to my brother.) His father, from a lineage of Choctaw. He has left us now. But through the years, the wisdom gleaned from his generations has been passed on with oral traditions and habits which were undoubtedly instilled as a child. Now we allow digital devices to shape our children's opinions and habits. Proxy parents with malignant intent. This has tragic consequences.
I am very much my father's daughter.
In conversation, he once said, "There is a thin line between faith and foolishness." Let me lay out my own thoughts regarding the death of a second American on the streets of Minneapolis in what is a cold winter of ICE. The blog will be written later today.
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-15495779/Minneapolis-nurse-Alex-Pretti-video-horrifying-questions-killing.html
But for now: Daddy on his 85th birthday. Emotions travel beyond timelines; and how I wish that he and I could have a conversation prior to the next blog. It would be better - if he could write it. The task is left to me.
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