I was writing a card today, and noticed something that made me pause. Here I am, almost thirty (almost twenty-nine, that is), and I've been thinking for all that time that I had my own handwriting. And then I paused and looked at the word I'd written: Love. With the capital.
And I looked at the way the L had sort of an odd curve, and the way the 'v' and 'e' connected to one another and I realized: that's my father. That's the way my father writes that word.
Granted, my father uses cursive, so the 'o' and 'v' are connected one to the other, but apart from that one little connection, the word could have been written by either one of us.
I've received a lot of things from my father over the years, as all sons do. But how is it that I've also received handwriting? One wouldn't think there'd be any connection between the way our hands form letters on a page. But perhaps there's not; perhaps it's just the love.
I love you, Dad.
2 comments:
At some point after my dad died, I also noticed that my handwriting is like his. Ever so slightly more feminine, but very similar. I always hated my handwriting before, but I love that.
Hey - we have a lot in common besides the way we write the word "Love". We both like: gardening (trees & trumpet plants, etc.); October (lots of color in NC and it finally cools off in FL); and flying, especially low and slow. And of course, I love you too - both now and forever!
Love, Dad
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