Stories Of The Han

We will never be friends These words were muttered from my father He sat stone faced back towards me I was 9 years old. A frail scared boy holding in my bated breath My father was a man of contradiction He was a natural charmer He knew how to tell jokes He knew how to command a room I would observe from afar in wonder Attempting to understand this man and in turn myself Who was he Why was he so capable of showing his humanity to others but not to his own kin He was quiet at home Stern and serious I knew he was wounded but refused to heal I am no longer a boy. I am a man. I am still his son. And I wish I could tell him that I’ve been his friend all along.