Something deeply unsettling started to consume me. My finger twitched suddenly, almost in a
painful way. I began to feel a gnawing in my throat. What my father had just told me, that took
courage, and a deep sense of trust. Perhaps by doing that, he was expecting me to be as frank and
truthful in return. Maybe he didn't realise I wasn't ready for that yet, maybe not for a long time. His
reaching out to me means a lot, given the sometime icy nature of our relationship. And it really
troubles me that I can't return the sentiment in the same way.
My father looked over at me and without a single word being spoken, strode determindely into the
house. He returned a moment later with a cup and saucer in his meaty hands. I took a sip of the
steaming hot tea my father graciously offered. Although it burnt the back of my throat, it wasn't for
the obvious reason. It wasn't that it was hot, but another reminder that my father was reaching out
and that I wasn't willing to return the token of trust.
“Are you feeling alright, son?” My father asked gingerly, his voice laced with apprehension.
I took in his expression, which only increased the torment and tempest inside my gut. It was earnest,
heartfelt, lit up with an uncharacteristic front of genuine concern. My heart sunk once more, and I
took my leave as my father had done moments before. My apprehension to answer the question far
outweighed what he felt asking it, and I still couldn't. So I headed nervously back towards the little
church I passed on my way here, over the creek and back past the old saw mill. I knew I'd probably
ventured further than my father had on his short sulk. But I had to get away, and I felt embarrassed
for running off like that, like a small child.
But I also knew that he had to know my secret, and I also knew that single moment of raw honesty
required of me would challenge me more than the act itself. When it happened, others knew, but I
never had to explain it to anyone. It was something that was mutually understood by my comrades,
and it instantly became a taboo topic. But that's not really something you can say to your father, is
it? Especially when he broke that unspoken rule of war, for me.
I slowly pushed opened the rotting wooden oak doors of the church, trudging slowly through the
centre aisle towards the altar. I took a seat at the front, bowed my head, clasped my hands, and
started to pray.
Sometimes our worldly experience isn't enough for us to challenge the things closest to our heart
Matthew Flower
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