My father is not a man of many words. And the words I do remember, the majority of them, were not kind or encouraging--they were/are often belittling, acrimonious, painful. I don't say this with anger, resentment, blame, or bitterness. I render it only as fact; a small (maybe quite large, in retrospect), but true outline in the story that is my life. 

I came across this letter/list that F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote for his daughter, Scottie, when she was a young girl. I thought the sweetness and hopefulness of the list was endearing. I felt a pang of sadness for all the words my own father has neglected to say, leaving me devoid of any fatherly, parental advice in my life. I fill this empty bowl on my own again and again. It has been propitious beyond words in its own right. 

The list is as follows:

Things to worry about: