The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.
Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
out of his hat, he drew love from his small body,
and the rivers of his hands
overflowed with good deeds.
What we say pales in comparison to what we do. Children learn about love by watching their mother and father. If their mother and father are loving, kind and respectful to each other their children will learn lessons no book can teach them.
Some days I think about my dad. He was tough and I had to walk a straight line. Most times it was only the look and I knew I was about to cross a line from which there was no return (LOL). I remember the thousands of times he tossed a football to me. I remember being taught how to hit a curve ball. I remember going into the swamps to pick blueberries (I always ate more than I picked). I remember going into the woods in the fall to search for mushrooms. He only got to the 8th grade when his dad died. He quit school to go to work to help support the family. He wasn’t perfect, but what he gave me far outweighed any father-son hangups I may have collected. Here’s to you, dad! Cheers!
“The child is father to the man.’
How can he be? The words are wild.
Suck any sense from that who can:
‘The child is father to the man.’
No; what the poet did write ran,
‘The man is father to the child.’
‘The child is father to the man!’
How can he be? The words are wild.”
Excerpt From
Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins / Now First Published
Gerard Manley Hopkins
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
“What’s up, Ray?”
“I’ve got a major problem P or B or whatever you call yourself. I’m stuck. I don’t get writer’s block. I’m afraid I have symptoms.”
“No problemo hombre. I’m here.”
“Your Spanish is one of my problems. You don’t speak Spanish.”
“Que?”
“Give me a break, P.”
“It’s not P, it’s not B, today it’s C. You’re jealous because I have more readers than you do.”
“C? Make up your mind. Guys are naturally jealous. How was I supposed to know I was creating a . . . .” . . . .” . . . .” . . . .” . . . .”
“What were you going to say, Ray?”
“Nothing,” I said. In reality, I was going to say phenom and then thought P or B or C or whatever might say that is her name. No way I am going to call her Phenom.
“It was something. In the meantime, here’s the deal. Set aside your masculine pride. Follow my lead and don’t argue with me.”
“What’s in it for me?” I asked.
“A post.”
“That’s it?”
“No, you can take me out for Mexican. I can practice my Spanish.”
“What are you going to order, ”
“You want me to tell you or do you want to get your post done?”
I roll my eyes.
“Okay, Pancho. I’m going to ask questions, you answers them.”
“It’s Ray, not Pancho. What is the first question?”
“Listen up Pablo. What was it like being a father to five girls when they were home?”
I give her a surprised look. It’s a good question for Father’s Day. “I enjoyed every minute. I wanted to be with them. I wanted only the good things in life for them. Babe and I watched them grow into wonderful, strong, intelligent women. I am proud of each of them. When I am with them now, I enjoy the moments. I am grateful for them.”
“Not bad, Juan. They are all grown women now with families. What is your relationship with them?”
“I’ll always be their biological father. But I consider them much, much more than daughters and family. Each of them is a good friend. Each of them a good person. Each of them has a heart of love. You can always tell a good friend by how quickly they’ll help you when you’re lying flat on your back. All five would rush to me in a second. And, I would do the same for them. We’re friends. Friends show up for each other.”
“Happy Father’s Day, Ray.”
“Thanks, B or P or C.”
