[ WP ] You 're about to speak at your deceased father 's wake . You have n't heard from him since you left home decades ago , and you do n't recognize anybody in the audience .

Looking around, all I see are unfamiliar faces. Judging by the look of disgust on them, I guess they ca n't really say the same about me. Ca n't blame them, though. I was never the prodigal son. I dropped out of school, ran away and just never looked back. It's not because I hated dad. I actually kinda liked him. I just never had a connection to him, which kinda makes me wonder why I'm here and why he wanted me to speak at his funeral. Christ, I've never even been to a funeral. What the hell did he expect me to say? All we ever talked about were stories about the Vietnam War, told from the perspective of a young teenager looking to make a quick buck. Was that what he wanted me to do? Tell tales of the war with him as the protagonist like some sort of minstrel? I guess I'll try that. 
 
 So here I am, standing behind this... altar thing? Staring down at all these people, already grinding their teeth, imagining what I'm going to say about my father. Sorry to disappoint. 
 
 `` Guessing from the way you're all glaring at me, I guess I do n't really need an introduction,'' I started out. ``... considering you all probably guessed who I am by now. What you do n't know is that I did n't really know my father all that well. Funny thing, that. I lived with him for the majority of my life and I did n't know what beer he liked to drink. I did n't know what car he liked. I did n't even know if he had a hobby. What I do know is that I'm a mistake. He never told me that, but I knew he never had a father. No one to teach him how to throw a ball, no one to take him fishing. So I guess it makes sense that he was never prepared to be one. Despite that, I could tell he tried his best, in his own little detached way... but I was too busy. Just too busy being an angsty, rebellious teenager to realize that.'' 
 
 Fuck... I was planning to just go up there, glorify his war stories a little and leave. Now I'm standing here, in front of a bunch of strangers, about to pour my heart out. 
 
 `` I remember when he told me about his mother. It was one of the very few times he did. I remember it very well because it was the first out of two times he ever cried, the second time was when I last saw him. He told me how, when he was young, he ran away from home and never saw her again until the day of her funeral. He told me that, despite all the horrible things he had done, it was the biggest regret of his life. That he wished he could've hugged her more, and gotten some life advice from her. Maybe learn how to treat the ladies better.'' 
 
 My eyes seem to be getting blurry... 
 
 `` Funny... now that I think about it, I seem to be more than just his spitting image. I practically re-traced his life footsteps...'' 
 
 Walking down those steps, I could only think of one thing. *Sorry, dad. Wish I had bothered to find out what beer to pour on your grave. *
