My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
We can wish life were fair but the only choice is that we be fair. It would be nice if there were justice, with good rewarded and evil set aside, but that does not occur, except in those instances where we decide to reward the goodness we recognize.
No comments:
Post a Comment