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Extended Millers

Keeping close though far apart

Friday, July 22, 2005


A father is a person who is forced to endure childbirth without
an anesthetic. He growls when he feels good and laughs very loud when
he is scared half-to-death.
A father never feels entirely worthy of the worship in a child's eyes.
He is never quite the hero his daughter thinks. Never quite the man
his son believes him to be. And this worries him sometimes. (So he works
too hard to try to smooth the rough places in the road of those of
his own who will follow him.)
A father is a person who goes to war sometimes...and would run
the other way except that war is part of an important job in his life
(which is making the world better for his child than it has been for him).
Fathers grow older faster than other people, because they,
in other wars, have to stand at the train station and wave goodbye to
the uniform that climbs on board.
And, while mothers cry where it shows, fathers stand and beam
...outside...and die inside.
Fathers are men who give daughters away to other men who
aren't nearly good enough, so that they can have children that are
smarter than anybody's.
Fathers fight dragons almost daily. They hurry away from the
breakfast table off to the arena, which is sometimes called an office
or a workshop. There they tackle the dragon with three heads:
Weariness, Works, and Monotony. And they never quite win the fight,
but they never give up.
Knights in shining armor; fathers in shiny trousers. There's little
difference as they march away each workday.
And when Father passes away, and after a good rest, he won't
just sit on a cloud and wait for the girl he's loved and the children
she bore. He'll be busy there too...repairing the stars, oiling the gates,
improving the streets, smoothing the way.
-- Author Unknown