Freedom of speech

My father sends me this photo today of him in 1968.
A weird coincidence after me reflecting on iranian youth.

I call him to find out whether he agrees if I publish it or not.
A discussion starts. It’s for my own protection, that I shouldn’t. I sense fear and maybe conspiracy but then what do I know? His life experience justifies this reaction more than me worrying about disliking Facebook commentary on my first blog. Which I deleted of course, so much to freedom of speech….

But my fathers story belongs to me too more than to those who might be a threat.
And I’m free to say one of these guys is my Dad and he is a hero.