So I saw my dad this weekend for the first time in about two and a half years. It was actually an interesting visit. My memories of him from my childhood are tainted by the spin that my mother put on them over the years. Slowly, the more I talk to him, the more I found out about what really happened. Also, the more he tells me, the more memories come back that I had long since erased. As some of you more frequent readers may have noticed, I have referred to myself as an “orphan” many times before. I banned my mother from life 5 years ago, and my father and I have never had much of a relationship. I didn’t really “meet him” until I was 19 or 20. This weekend, for the first time really ever, I felt like I had a parent. I’ve always said that my family tree begins with me. I consider myself the beginning. This weekend I actually felt like maybe the tree didn’t start with me. I actually felt like my father’s son.