This thought crossed my mind as I began my day at work kneading a large hunk of whole wheat dough. I thought of my dad in his kitchen with an over flowing bowl of freshly risen bread dough made from scratch. This realization at the time was both some thing to savour and resist.
There are things about being his daughter that I find flattering and quaint as well as those that make me resent myself and him while I lay awake staring at my bedroom ceiling (a lovely thing that happens when you cannot sleep, a trait I inherited from him). I have a love of good fresh food complete with a touch of Virginia clay. I am passionate and head strong and stubborn. I'll argue my point until you look at me and sigh. I am sarcastic and snarky to the point of annoyance. I can't see worth anything and run into things even while wearing glasses. I wear Chaco sandals and my head resembles a square.
I plan on naming my children Cabell, and Yancey.
Those are all things I accept about myself and try to work on daily because I do not believe in complacency. The things I hate are many. I am quick to be hurt and angry. I fear that I contain that same ease in handing people I love blame while assuming the worst. These are things I share with him, a thought that makes me recoil.
Some day I will hopefully reconcile all this feelings with him but for now it's enough to just acknowledge them as I knead bread.
