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 was, what he felt was important, and what his thoughts about things in general were. 

Only now, after learning of his passing and much too late, did it become important enough to want to know. I did not want my son to face that same silence. These pages are my attempt to leave behind what my own father failed to do for me. Who I was and how I lived, the good, the bad, and the uncomfortable, in my own words. 

This is not a cry for help, sympathy, approval, or judgment. It is simply a raw record, written for the day he may want to know who his father was.