My father, absent and unavailable as he was taught me things.
He taught me that if you want to learn to write you have to read. Accordingly he taught me if you want to read good, insightful writing, read "The New York Times" Book Review.
He taught me the value of hard work, since he seldom came home.
He taught me moderation, since he did not possess any.
Yesterday, I was thinking about a poem he beat into my head. When clients panic and agencies enable, that's when I wish more people knew this poem.
It's short, just four lines. He had it typewritten and pinned to the wall in his house.
I have it typewritten and in my wallet. And etched in my brain.
It's a poem called "On Anxiety" and it's by Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,
But what torments of grief you endured,
From the evil that never arrived.