Continuing in my father’s footsteps, I am wearing old, beat up, well-loved clothing today. Furthermore, it is a souvenir from prioritizing seeing a beloved musician of mine. “In the end, only kindness matters,” sings Jewel. The last bit of her lyrics are bold, in all caps across my body. My father would approve.
Perhaps this reminder should be emblazoned in my direct vision. I’m on my second cup of coffee, sniffling through spring in the chain I begrudgingly go back to out of convenience. Caffeinated fuel spills before performing enough magic. As I approach the busy station to begin my clean up, I say, “Excuse me,” and the cold, stare of a businessman matches his frigid stance in refusal to move. My dad’s words ring through my head, “You don’t stand in line for napkins, Jennifer Lynn.” There is humor behind this lesson, but presently I contort my hand to get what is necessary as another nudge from my dad’s legacy comes with the plea to not allow my heart to get wrapped up in this misdeed.
So thanks to the music of my dad and Jewel’s heart, I go about the rest of my day. I am my father’s daughter.