The Silent Love That Cannot Be Spoken

This is a father-son time hidden in the daily fireworks. The young man is sensitive, proud, and tough-tongued. He always inadvertently leaves the sharpest words to those closest to him. My father is silent, clumsy, and not good at words. He puts all the hard work and care into the day-to-day work and companionship. There was no grand confession, no tearful reconciliation. There are only umbrellas handed to me on rainy days, candies quietly stuffed in my pockets, and cattail leaf fans swaying gently in the middle of the night. And the handful of crumpled and warm change at the station. We are all used to not talking, But over the long years, they slowly understood each other.