He wanted you to know him first, the real him, the man himself, without the crushing weight of the past standing between you.

He wanted you to care for him as a person before you ever had to reckon with him as your father.

He would rather have been your friend for six real weeks than your father across a wall he could never climb.

So he built a door instead of knocking on the wall.

And the door was a dying man’s simple wish.

The more Mr.