I listened to a song today that I haven't heard in...well, years. I was looking at my oldest son and reflecting on how much he is like me. That always leads to a fervent prayer that my less than favorable traits have passed him and the rest of my kids by, but I know that's unlikely. Anyway, it reminded me of this song and I just wanted to put it on this page in hopes that it will get out of my head.
You may not always be so grateful
For the way that you were made
Some feature of your father's
That you'd gladly sell or trade
And one day you may look at us
And say that you were cursed
But over time that line has been
Extremely well rehearsed
By our fathers, and their fathers
In some old and distant town
From places no one here remembers
Come the things we've handed down
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