My father was born on the 21st of September in 1919.
His was a rough life. Orphaned, passed around, institutionalized, run away, lived on the streets, petty crime, maybe greater crimes, prison, released into the Army toward the end of the war, medic, badly, badly damaged, alcoholic, in and out of jail, dreamer, wisher, wanter of better and bigger things. Wanted to be an Irish Frank Sinatra. Wanted to be classy. Betrayed his family over and over again.
And, he relentlessly told me how good I was and how he loved me.
September 21st sits in my heart…
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