A letter to my son.

 This so-called blog began as a letter to my son.

I never really knew my own father, and after he died, it became almost impossible to learn who he had been, what he felt was important, his health history, mine being so bad, and what he thought about things, because I think a lot about things. 

Only now, after learning of his passing some 20-30 years ago and much too late, did it become important enough to me to search for the other half of me. I did not want my son to face that same silence if he too ever came to that same need to know.

 These pages are meant to leave behind a firsthand account to fill the void if ever my son has questions about what his father was all about. Who I was and how I lived, the good, the bad, and the uncomfortable, in my own words. Something I wish my father had been able to leave for me. 

Although the words contained in my posts are often heavy, they are a true and honest account of a man who had a son who never really got to know him. I came into this world under difficult circumstances. I often felt what I couldn't express in person. So I wrote in my own voice and tone, not as a cry for help, or sympathy, approval, or judgment, but as a raw, honest record, in case the day ever comes, my son may want to know.