A Stubborn Man's Descension

My father is a very stubborn man.
They stole my life, my passion, my father says.
I know exactly what you mean, daddy. Is how 
I could have responded, but don’t want to 
Get him started on the anger and negativity
That ricocheted inside him until it seeped out of 
His very pores. His life was not the only one 
Stolen but he was so viciously robbed that it 
Made him blind to nearly everything. I’ve come 
To nudge him into a brighter light. Or rather I talk
 and he refutes before I finish a single sentence.
We tried before, my mom and I. To make him 
Understand and see. So, stubborn and stuck in his ways
“This is just how I am.” Would be his reply. He sits
on the couch and watches a basketball game that
he's probably already watched a gazillion times.
He’s stopped writing. I’ve been robbed of my creativity,
He says. So why is it that I, who has been robbed from the 
Same life as you, now burned with even greater creativity
 and passion? How sad it must be to be robbed blind of your
own visions.  I nudge. My mother nudges. We’re nudging
until our nudging has become a series of shoves. And he’s
almost there. He’s almost at the edge where the darkness 
ends and the light begins. Where lives, creativity, and passion 
are found. I can almost see the light beating down on him
like a series of lightning bolts. If only we could bulldoze
 him right off the edge. But, my father is a very stubborn man.
I feel as soon he’s about to make the fateful drop into the
Light he’ll turn. And when he turns he’ll glance at us and say
Something flooring. Something like ‘They stole my ability to fall.’