The most important photograph in our house always hung slightly crooked above the living room couch. The glass had a long crack across one corner after I accidentally hit it with a foam soccer ball when I was eight years old.
I remember freezing in fear after the ball struck the frame because I expected yelling or disappointment. Instead, Dad stared at the damaged photograph quietly for several seconds before giving a tired little shrug and smiling softly. “Well,” he said calmly, “I survived that day. I can survive this too.”
At the time, I didn’t fully understand what he meant. To me, it was simply an old picture that had always been there. But as I got older, I realized that photograph…
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