I remember the day my father apologized to me. It was probably about ten years ago now. He and I had both been working hard at our relationship that was hard to work. It had been that way for a long, long time. Through the years, we kept on keeping on with the gritty task of restoring a relationship that had been broken. Lots of dinners and lunches out with slow conversations as we struggled to acquaint ourselves with each other. I say acquaint because although there had been no real lapse in our relationship time-wise, we had ceased knowing each other in the way you cease knowing someone when you hold on too long to an idea of who that person is that doesn’t fit them anymore. So to say that Dad and I were getting reacquainted doesn’t quite fit because neither of us were at all who we once had been. At some point during those difficult years between he and I, I had grown from a girl into a woman and he had become an entirely different type of man. During those long, hard years Dad had changed into the type of man who would look over at his grown daughter as he stood by her side and say, “Summy, I’m so sorry about all that.”
Such a simple apology. Such a sufficient apology.