“Being young is a flaw that goes away by itself and very, very, very quickly” – that’s what my father used to say to me as a kid. Approaching my 50th birthday I can’t help but think how right my father was about so many things… Where did all that time go?
Seems like it was just yesterday when I wrote my first poem at the age of 6. I dedicated it to my father and he did not like it. He told me I should never write poetry again…
When he left my mom I was 14 and I was furious. He said that I will understand it when I am old enough. It took me about 30 years to understand it and I can only accept it now, at the age of 50 when both my dad and my mom are long gone…
