One day, while I was still in high school, my dad cut off his beard. He had always had a long beard, but all of a sudden I could see his face. He picked me up from school that day and I told him he looked ridiculous. That wasn't the response he was looking for. I felt bad because I think it may have hurt his feelings, and except for the time I was playing with my Sesame Street toys on the floor by the bathroom in the trailer when I was four or five or so, I don't think I had ever hurt his feelings before. You see, I wanted to play with my big brother Justin, but Justin didn't want to play, so my dad sat down to play with me. But I said no. I wanted Justin. He quickly yelled 'fine' and got up and left. I felt bad because I had made him sad. Looking back now He probably wasn't upset that I didn't want to play with him, but rather that I wouldn't stop complaining and I was getting on his nerves. At least that's how I would feel if a kid was being a complainer. I don't blame him, of course. Who has time for complainers? My dad was one of my biggest supporters growing up.
If I wanted to do something, he made it happen. If I needed to go somewhere, he would go with me and stay with me along the way. We'd spend every Saturday at that magic store from open to close. If I needed something made, he would make it with me. And even though I hated tinkering, fixing and making things, I would do it joyfully because I got to do it with him.
As far as personality, He and I were worlds apart from each other, yet as different as we were, we were still just the same. He never talked to me about it, but I think it bothered him when I changed my name from Toutant to Cain. I didn't do it because of anything he or my family did. It was just something I had to do, because of what life did to me. Something I had to do to be right with myself. Toutant blood runs through my veins, though, and I remember that always. I never got to explain it properly to him.
But he understands now. He understands everything now. I don't miss him, because now he is with us always. I don't cry that he's gone. I cry that he lived. A life so full. So full. So full of life, so full of Love. So full of care. So full of whatever the Heaven he wanted. He didn't come to this life to be anything other than himself. And he was comfortable with who he was. Of all the things he taught me, it was to be myself, and to be happy with who that was. To accept nothing less. As different as we are, we're still the same. Oh so the same. And I am so glad that I got to have him as my dad.
I'm a mirror (and so are you).