so english

my dad is an incredibly loving man.

he lives and breathes for his children.

every time my brother comes back from college,

my dad will go out into the rain and grill him some chicken,

because he knows james is a picky eater.

and he wants his son to eat.

my father will ask me every detail he can about how i am feeling any time i am home.

not because he is nosy, but because he cares. perhaps he cares too much.

he tells me "i love you" in a lot of ways.

but i dont remember a time my dad has said "i love you".

he is much too english for that.

and i have many times thought that i am an open man. that i wear my heart on my sleeve.

and i do, to an extent.

its a consequence of my upbringing. an englishman raised in new jersey.

but there is a certain angle, a certain distance, from which you can see it.

stand too close, and it disappears. 

i tell myself

the people who can hold on to me

need me to be strong. what good is a shield that has rotten wood?

rotten wood, i say.

but wood is not rotten for having been worn.

yet i am still too english to admit it.