Ankyra Sound Grubble Rubble

The young man stated that he had been a few months old when his father had left. He also remarked that he did remember quite a bit about him. This struck Kierkegaard as an oddity; he could not recall one thing from when he had only been a few months old. He could scarcely remember things from when he had been only a year. He assumed that this was a benefit of being so young, but he did not imagine that a few months in someone's company would afford them a kind light. This skepticism lingered on his rough face as his ears swiveled forward, toward the young man.

“If you only had a couple of months with him, why the hell does it matter?” he then asked. His tone was rough and tumbled from his lips in a graveled baritone. “You managed to make it this far without him. What good is it going to do to see him again?” His fiery gaze bore into the pale boy with a strange intensity. Kierkegaard knew what it meant to be left alone at a young age. He did not hold a relationship with his own father, so he did not understand why it was important.