The Evidence Of Love

Little is spoken of the weight borne by a son under the shadow of his father's sins. I remember one of my childhood friends, whose mind was a thing of rare brilliance - beautifully adaptive, like a bolt of lightning. Quick-witted, defiant of authority, and unnervingly perceptive - he was years ahead of us in understanding the world. He went out of his way to uplift others, armed with a renegade sense of justice that he upheld fiercely. Compassionate to his core, he was the unwavering champion of the underdogs in our school.

Yet, in quieter moments, when he believed himself unseen, I would catch glimpses of an indescribable sadness in his eyes. And then, as though by instinct, he would don his armour of resilience the moment someone approached - becoming once more the spirited defender we all admired.

We drifted apart for a few years but reconnected at university. By then, his natural charisma and care for others had earned him respect across campus - he seemed to know everyone. Yet, there was something intangible - a faint undertone of detachment, as though he felt he did not truly belong. During a time when I was utterly lost in my own life, he took me under his wing, becoming the older brother I never had.

Many evenings were spent in the company of mutual friends - discussing the world, crafting nonsensical theories, and composing worldview haikus until the early hours. Those nights felt like an oasis - a momentary escape from the harsher currents of life. And yet, beneath it all - the sadness remained, almost palpable in its depth.

One evening, he finally opened up. He spoke of his father, a man whose life choices had left him ostracised by society. He admitted he was ashamed and terrified that he might one day become his father. His words were heavy with pain, as though he were battling fate itself - wrestling with the spectre of predestination. Without a present father to guide him, he was left to piece together his own concept of masculinity - a fragmented, often treacherous path riddled with self-doubt and abyssal uncertainties. Without a solid foundation, he had no choice but to cobble together his own moral code - stumbling often, but always adjusting. And what struck me most was his resilience. No matter how hard the fall, he would rise again - determined to forge a better version of himself.

Recently, I caught up with him again - now a man with a thriving family of his own. Seeing him as a devoted father brought me immense joy because he is, as I always knew he would be, an exceptional one. During our conversation, I turned to him and thanked him for being there for me when I needed family the most. I told him how profoundly he had shaped my life - that every painful lesson and misstep he endured in his quest to "get it right" had not been in vain. I told him that, because of the way he treated me, I had always known he would become a man of his own making - a father far removed from the shadow he once feared. "I am evidence of your love", I said. For the first time, I saw relief wash over his face. He told me he needed to hear that. And in that quiet unspoken moment, as we sat in comfortable silence, I knew we would both be alright.