Something cold ran straight down my spine.
I knew those words. He knew the rhythm of them and the man who had written them, only on a kitchen table on a hardware store, with three babies asleep in a single crib because he could not pay three.
I knew it because that man was meme!
I knew those words.
June was still reading.
“I am 27 years old. I’m scared all the time. I don’t know how to be a father, but I know I’m not going anywhere.”
I fell out of my chair, my knees hitting the ground, and the camera almost slipped out of my hand!
Someone by my side caught up with my elbow, helping me get back to my seat. I couldn’t look at them.
When she said, “Our father,” he meant me. He always meant me!
On stage, my daughter stopped reading, looked straight down the hallway, straight at the weeping man in row seven, and continued.
