When I was a young teenager I wanted to go to Montana. I had a great aunt and uncle who lived there and saw the desire in me to see the world.
Each time they came to visit the family they would remind my parents of having me come visit, taking the train and how great the trip would be.
I always thought maybe this time would be the one when my Dad would say ok. He never did…
I was furious and he never had a reason I believed for not allowing me to go.
I know he worried about my safety and getting there in one piece, this at the time before cellphones in every hand.
I understand his worries, even know as an adult I have accumulated more than my share of wounds and alarm.
I wonder what he would think of my travelling alone to the other side of the world.
At the moment I sit with my left foot propped up to stop the blood from a puncture wound, covered in dirt and ready to go.
If he can see me now, he’s probably shaking his head, not surprised and proud.