The Dad My Children Never Knew

I often wonder why I write.  I am not a writer by any means. Nor do I have an interesting story that might captivate a large audience.  Yet, I find myself compelled to document my boring life.

I often wonder about my father's life, and how it was that he never showed any weakness or worries.  Except for his diminishing health in the last couple of years of his life, he rarely ever exhibited any loss of control, and always portrayed a man of confidence.  He was, as we all wish our fathers could be, a man who could always assist us in our most dire hours of need.

But what was he really thinking?

How did he really feel about himself and his family?

I am quite sure that there are things he would never have told me, even if he were alive today.  We all have our secrets.  Yet, now that he is gone, and my life has followed his death with such turmoil and family upheavals, that I wonder if I should just keep my mouth shut so that I can remain as much a mystery as my father.

Most blogs that I read are really just diaries.  Public diaries that thousands can read, and even comment on. But my children (14, 21, 28, sons) have never read my blog, and I would not want them to read it.  My archives reveal many of my feelings that I don't care if the world knows about, but I would rather they remain secret from my sons while I am still alive.

So , I write about my boring life, and document my feelings about stuff in it, so that I can reveal to my siblings, the Dad My Children Never Knew, when I am dead.