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Then, And Now (4)

My father spent most of my childhood building a 40 foot sailboat out of wood with his bare hands, in hopes of sailing around the globe. Around the turn of the millennium, during a time when we did not speak, he and my mother abandoned their suburban life and set sail across the Atlantic, eventually reaching northern Africa before returning across the Atlantic once more, barely averting several fatal disasters. This beautifully quixotic quest–an act of sheer determination, bravery, and defiant adventurism–will go unheralded by the populace and the records of history due mostly to my father’s self-imposed social isolation and constantly troubled mind. The beaten and weathered vessel On Eagles’ Wings, my father’s former pride and joy, has remained at his dock ever since, a relic of an unfinished journey. With a bleached white, filthy imprint all that remains of its once brilliant blue name, it haunts with the specter of unrequited longing.

This accomplishment of devotion, undertaken not for profit nor fame, is what I’ve grown to respect most about my father. Even though, like everything between he and I, it resonates with a confusing blend of mixed feelings, this modern tale of triumph and tragedy should be properly commended, here, on my little island in the digital ocean, in honor of his August 8th birthday.

I can imagine the freedom of