Roots
When the daughter saw her father again for the first time, fifteen years had gone by and she was a grown woman almost thirty, loving another woman almost thirty-four. He had given some of the best years of his life to another country where food on television looked mouthwatering in a plastic sort of way, but he wasn’t sure that he had gained something he could show for it. When she saw him he had changed. He was thinner and shorter than she remembered and his face bore the mark of a man who had weathered the passing of Time exposed to the elements.