Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned

But give me a bit longer, believe it or not — I might just win.

Brian Brewington
8 min readJan 24


I didn’t grow up poor, we just didn’t have the shit I saw on commercials and yearned for, knowing it was out of our reach financially. Rarely did I ask, and I don’t recall being the kid who threw tantrums in public when he didn’t get his way or the thing he asked for, when and if I did.

Good childhood though, the way I remember it anyhow.

I mean, it probably wasn’t average, standard, or prototypical — but that’s what I loved about it. I never needed it to be any of those things, never wanted ‘em.

As mild-mannered, loving, empathetic, and supportive as my Dad was — when it came to me especially— I think I still knew better than to even consider embarrassing him in public, by causing a scene when we were out and about. Didn’t matter if it was around friends, family members, or Joe Jerkoff down the street.

To have me acting like a spoiled little shit in front of our neighbors and whatnot, was always an unspoken but well understood and respected no-fly zone with my old man. And I thank the Gods for as much, on the daily. Without respect for other people, those who deserve it and earn it especially, what do we have?

He didn’t sacrifice all he did, to have me actin’ a fool in public or a spoiled little shit at family holiday get-togethers and BBQs or whatever.

He’d make sure people knew he raised me right, as a single father with little help of any kind. He must’ve just decided that’s what he was going to do one day — himself. He’d do his absolute best, in every capacity.

And he did a damn fine job if I say so myself. Most folks I’ve had the privilege or misfortune of meeting throughout my life knew or know who and what I am, as well as who and what I was raised by. If only by how I carried myself, began and ended interactions with words like please and thank you, or because they witnessed for themselves how my Father and his seven siblings were raised by my grandparents. Which, I mean, how was that even a thing?

Talk about sacrifice, my lord how did they manage? Tough skin doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of it. I’m sure their upbringings — meaning my…



Brian Brewington

Writing About the Human Condition, via My Thoughts, Observations, Experiences, and Opinions — Founder of Journal of Journeys and BRB INC ©