A package my dad sent me this Christmas was a dashiki he’d bought some 45 years ago, along with a really lovely note about wearing this garment in times of needing tolerance and understanding (or just sticking it up the man’s ass). “It’s old, but it still has magical powers. Wear it well,” he said.
To you it might be a silly old shirt. To me, this brings unspeakable comfort and protection. And a nice reminder of my roots in this strange, fluid life. Thank you, Dad.
“My father understands the demons I wrestle with in my daydreams
and knows what to say when they are winning
and I go spinning all night screaming ‘I don’t need your help.’
He knows that means I need it bad.”