There were many things that were rough about my father. His whiskery kisses felt like quick abrasions with sand paper. His voice was like a car moving slowly over gravel. His hands were calloused from years of work on the docks in all weathers. But there was nothing rough about his soul. He was the most gentle of spirits, a calming breeze in the storms of life.

By neeta, October 28, 2013.