When meeting a parent for the first time, it’s hard to know how to feel or what to think.
I met my father for the first time when I was twenty-four years old. He was wearing a light blue flannelette collared shirt, oil stains were on the ends of the sleeves and it was obviously a fashionable number in the early 90’s. Even so I could tell he had selected his best. This best was then tucked into some brown cargo pants and pulled up to a sensible height. His long mattered hair had been combed back nicely, his shoes were missing, his teeth slightly yellowed from what can be assumed to be cigarette from the smell in the air and his skin was sun kissed from hours of laborious work outdoors.