The high school Social Studies teacher was always trying to stir us up. He told us that men of a certain generation were closed off emotionally. “Few of you– if any– have really talked to your fathers.”
That day, when I got home, I greeted my Dad with the words, “We don’t really talk.” He seemed taken aback. Then he nodded. “Follow me,” he said. We trudged up the stairs. He led me into his office. I perched on the edge of a hardback chair. Neither of us spoke for a bit. My Dad was pacing.
“So,” he said.
“So,” I said.
He stopped walking back and forth. He waved his hands at me.
“Well, we’re talking now,” he said. “The two of us up here together. We’re having a talk. We’re talking– you and me– aren’t we?”
“Yes,” I said.
That was that.