The Setting Son

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


My dad has aged a lot in the past few years. It was probably as gradual as the rest of us but I'm noticing it more now. His walk has become more of a shuffle but he's strong enough or perhaps willful enough that he doesn't want any help. That's fine. It will work up until it doesn't. My main concern is that he doesn't go out as much as he used to—and with my mom in Hawaii, I'm concerned about his social health. I'm sure he interacts with people when he goes grocery shopping but there is a silent echo around him. He has some interests still. In the summer he sun bathes. He keeps himself occupied with Breath of the Wild or watching sports that I never took an interest in. Thanks to TiVo, Netflix, and Youtue, he has a robust amount of content at his fingertips. And yet I worry.

I try to bring him news from my life, how I felt about a recent movie, or a friend's play but I feel like our stilted conversations fall short. Where did this gap between us come from? I feel like it's my fault but I can't remember why.


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