Verse 13
Son, when you were born I understood why old kings feared heirs.
Son, when you were born I understood why old kings feared heirs.
Not because you threatened my life.
Because you proved my life had become a before.
I watched you learn my habits faster than I could decide which ones deserved inheritance.
Parents speak of shaping children because admitting the reverse is frightening.
You made me notice every sentence of my father that had rented a room in my mouth.
Some I kept.
Some I evicted.
Some had already become load-bearing.
When we argued, I heard three generations speaking at once.
No wonder the kitchen felt crowded.
I wanted to spare you my mistakes.
Then I wanted you to make only approved new mistakes.
That was when I recognized Kronos.
The devouring father does not always use teeth.
Sometimes he uses advice without end.
Sometimes money with conditions.
Sometimes disappointment sharpened into duty.
So here is the inheritance I can give cleanly: permission to become unfamiliar to me.
If I understand you completely at forty, one of us has probably stopped growing.
I will still worry.
Love and fear share too many tools.
Your task is not to defeat me.
Mine is not to remain king.
May we both remember before the sickle becomes necessary.
Call when you can.
I mean that last command only halfway.