|My dad in 1959, his senior year in high school|
The last time I saw my father, he was waving good-bye from the porch, as I drove to the airport to study overseas. The last time I spoke to him was from a phone booth in Cordoba, telling him all about the city, the school and my classes and the job I had gotten teaching English to mechanical engineers. He fell into a coma a day later and never awoke. He was 50.
|His 50th birthday in May 1991.|
A few years after he died, I found a letter he had written me prior to my first year in college. In it, he told me how I was connected to the world and that my actions in that world would make a difference. He also described how he felt he had failed me as a father, that he knew he hadn't been there for much of my life, that he hadn't protected me and that he could never make-up for it. He asked me to forgive him. I don't know that I every told him I had.