Pastor Bill Fitzhugh is my real dad.
Another Thanksgiving again passes with no contact.
I guess I should be numb to it by now. But holidays
and special occassions don't seem complete.
I just can't help but wonder how a pastor can preach
to their congregation about right and wrong, yet live
life ignoring your own flesh and blood son.
And it would be so easy to turn things around, at least
on my end. I'd just like to know who Bill Fitzhugh is.
But time just passes on, and we will never get it back.
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