Father’s Day

He was taken away before I was born.

Died in prison, his ashes lost in the mail.

My mother’s family remarked I was “just like him in every way.” .

I met him once, for four hours behind bars. He asked me to buy him a bag of peanuts from the prison vending machine, sixty cents in American change.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…”


I am a resident of Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada who has blogged here for 20 years. I like to share my thoughts and feelings on my own online space. From 1998 until 2017 I worked as a journalist and I hope to use this website as an archive for all of my stories.

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