I never thought my father and I had much in common despite my mother's ever-constant lament, "You're just like your daddy."
Back then I scoffed at the idea.
But then in 1993, my father died suddenly one week after his 62nd birthday and in the 15 years since, not a week has gone by that I don't somehow recall him, his words and his actions.
He wasn't an affectionate man. He grew up in an era and place where children were begat to work. He didn't know much about tenderness or bonding. His way of showing love was through providing and sacrificing so his family was secure.
At an awkward age when I was convinced he knew nothing about anything, he admonished me "Don't get above your raisin'." I wasn't sure what he meant then but over the years the cryptic meaning of his words have kept me grounded.
It wasn't that he didn't want me to not achieve, to not do better, to not have things.
He wanted me to remember my humble Appalachian origins and to realize that anything worth having is worth working for.
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