My friend's dad's name was Tony. At least, in English that was it. You know.
I listened to my friend talk about it. The disappointment, the desires, the plans, the unfulfilled hopes of an overly ambitions son for his father. The things one carries from life until death. The things that only death can mock.
These emotions, these frustrations are trivial to a dead man. It's obvious that none of this matters when it all comes to an end. But before then there is so much in the way.
Tony had a lot of friends. He had a lot of respect from the thousands of coworkers in the institution he worked in. They all knew how hard he worked. They all knew he was joyful in it. They all knew. There was no way they could have told this to my friend, but in the end even I found out. Tony was a great man.
