The men moved away, leaving Dad alone.
“One last thing. Open the drawer under the mixing desk. There’s something in there to help you get started.”
His voice trembled.
“I wish I’d been a better father. I wish we’d had more time. But most of all, I wish I’d told you how proud I am of you.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I love you, son. I always have.”
He reached toward the camera.
“Goodbye, buddy.”
The screen went black.
I sat motionless before folding forward and crying harder than I had at his funeral.
Eventually, I opened the drawer beneath the mixing desk.
Inside sat a wooden box containing neatly arranged envelopes.
Each was marked with a month and year.
I opened one.
Two hundred-dollar bills and a fifty.
The next contained exactly the same amount.
