Send Me On My Way

A small memory about the quiet way a father lets you go.

Send Me On My Way

The car was already running when he came out onto the porch.

He didn’t say much. He never did.

Just one hand on the top of the door, the other resting on the roof, like he was checking the weight of the moment.

“Go on,” he said.

And in the quiet way he always had, he sent me on my way.