It wasn't so much that one was avoiding the other, or that they had grown to hate each other. It was more along the lines of a distance that had grown into permanence. A distance that wasn't easily identifiable, or one that had its cause easily pointed out. Each had done things, each had misinterpreted, perhaps each had even looked back in hindsight to realize this, but the son only knew what he had come to think and interpret; he had no clue into the thoughts of the father, or his reasons and causes.

So it came to a growing length of time, which the son truly hadn't noticed pass by. Though the realization came, eventually, that it had been seven years since they had spoken or conversed in any way. The last they had seen of each other was at the son's graduation, and even then the father had been distant, seeming to only be there by requirement and not desire. And after the graduation, there was no attempt at communication. Granted, the son was enjoying a freedom from school, saying goodbye to friends and planning on what was next; but the father wasn't present, apparently making no attempt to be present, and—-as it can happen—-time passed and passed.

Attempts were made in communication; the father sending the expected cursory notes at holidays, though in time even those faded to nothing. The son, in turn, attempted to call and write, tracking the father down through email. And again, as can happen, time passed through these brief spurts and starts of communication that invariably failed.

Though it was a brief Christmas card from the grandmother of the son, mother to the father, which heightened an awareness and realization on both sides. It was cryptic, it probably could have been taken numerous ways, but upon reading it the son knew what was going on.

The son had probably known for quite some time, but hadn't realized it. After all, who thinks of their parents in that way...or so he reasoned in hindsight. It didn't matter, in reality, either way; because it was immaterial to the son, it didn't affect his opinion of the father in any way—-the father was still a father, albeit a father who could never communicate, who had to hide his feelings or deny them outright. A father who did have moments with the son, moments of laughter and joy, trips of adventure, good times, and occasionally the bad times that can arise during youth...as to be expected in this life. Though not all of it.