He once told his daughter,
as a way of confessing
his sins with which she was
more than cognizant simply
because she was around
the house, that every re-
grettable word was uttered
under the influence. The
confession came over the
phone so he couldn’t see
her physical response ( read
reaction) and then she
just “hmmed.” It wasn’t
exactly expiation, perhaps
more like partial propitiation,
like a wet blanket unable
to give off warmth to the
one who sat shivering
beneath. One day, by the
grace of God, he may wrap
a warm, soft, dry, non-
scratchy, wool blanket of
forgiveness around his
shoulders and stop asking
his daughter for the blanket
forgiveness that isn’t her’s
to give.

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