I made him the father that he told me, once, he never really wanted to be.
Did he mean it? It’s hard to say; he told so many stories in his lifetime that separating fact from fiction was and still is an impossibility.
But. Regardless of how we began, and in spite of the rough and rocky terrain we covered [sometimes together; sometimes estranged], I did know, by the end of his life, that he loved me. And even if I never completely understood him, I unequivocally loved him right back.
Happy Father’s Day, Big Fish. I’m so glad I was able to physically return you to the Gulf we both loved. But wherever I go, I carry a little bit of you with me: in the way my face creases when I laugh, in the way my soul is transported by music, and in the way my heart beats a little stronger every time I cross the Mississippi River.
