He shook his head.
"Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to be your dad."
He swallowed.
My eyes filled with tears.
"A while back, I started watching these old recordings. Just feeling nostalgic, I guess. And I remembered how much I loved playing music. How happy it made me. Then I remembered how you used to look when you played."
He swallowed.
"And I realized I'd spent years trying to protect you from the very thing that once made my own life worth living."
I wanted to tell you everything.
Dad wiped his eyes.
"By then, we'd barely spoken in years. I wanted to tell you everything, but I knew how it would look. Like I was trying to buy your forgiveness with some expensive gift."
He gestured around him.
"So I made a decision. I asked Frank to give you that box only after I was gone. Because I don't want you to feel like you owe me anything. Not forgiveness. Not gratitude. Not even a phone call."
