For words that are difficult to say, sincerity is required
A friend of mine used to spend a lot of time with his father, and I always admired their relationship. They spoke highly of each other, and rarely was a story told by either that didn’t include some reference to how the other reacted. They were the type of father/son team that didn’t need to go fishing or golfing to enjoy each other’s company. They talked sports, world events, and family business with like-minded ease. Both excelled in baseball in their youth, and due to their love of the game, they frequently took trips to Major League spring training in Florida and Arizona.
As with most friends and family, certain topics had a flashpoint—perhaps a favor that hadn’t been paid back, an opinion that was never uttered but always assumed, or an issue just below the surface that was better left alone. It was on one of those Florida trips where that hazardous territory was accidently violated, and an argument between father and son erupted at breakfast and was stifled only because they were in public. But the damage had been done, and my friend left the restaurant, got on a plane, and returned home alone.
When his father returned the next day, there was no telling which one was angrier, and neither was about to relent and extend a hand in peace. And so it went. Days turned into months; months turned into years. My buddy married and raised a family with two sons who both exceeded their father’s and grandfather’s skills in athletics, but Grandpa never attended a game nor was he ever invited to do so. After five more years passed, Grandpa entered a hospital with a life-threatening illness, and no one in the family could confirm or deny if the son made any gesture during that time. Even after the father’s recovery, nothing had changed. Everyone assumed the two never touched base.
I did reach out to each of them on various occasions over the years to craft a truce, but both respectfully asked me to stay out of it. I followed their request, which was difficult to do.
