coulda, wouda, shouda

Fathers Day.
Here I sit at the end of the day. I received calls from all my children. My wife gave me 2 pairs of new jeans (she's been washing the old ones and seeing the disintergration of same), and a lovely card.
I thankful to my wife for my children, and to an affair which yielded a remarkable young woman that like all of my children, I'm proud to call my own.
There are a great many things that I can look back on and regret either not doing, or, doing. But one thing I do not regret is the birth of each and every one.
I regret not having the time to get to know my own father. Sure I knew him for 25 yrs. but I was only at that time grown up enough to start to recognize him for who he was.
I knew my Grandfather for 8 yrs longer, and how I wish I had listened more to his advice.
Both of them loved us in completly different ways, and taught us lessons that will always remain with me.
I did the best that I knew how when they were younger, and I'm still trying to learn how to be a dad.
Wish me luck. It's a hellva ride.

But sometimes you get to see and smell the kudzu in bloom.