Through a magnifying glass to find a father

Looking back, I don't remember ever saying Happy Father's Day to my father. We were all so busy rushing headlong into this business of eking out and forging a livable existence, that the little important things got lost along the way. So now I will have to reserve that honor for our meeting in the afterlife. May you rest in peace, father dear.

The thought of writing about my father, I suddenly realized, would be a very daunting task. My first reaction was to cringe, and then take three days to build up the courage to approach the subject.

I mean, when asked to write about mother and Mother's Day, I skipped merrily into the subject with warm feelings and cozy thoughts, with the words tumbling out atop each other to be written. Now to approach the topic of the father, I just want to run the opposite direction and avoid facing the maelstrom, the cacophony, the tintinnabulation of noises clanging and rattling around on the inside of my head.

I do not want or wish to talk about my father! Although, strangely, with all that being said, I think that, in a little while, I will be ready. Just give me a little bit more time.

In writing this story, I now realize that the thing I liked least about you is the thing that I like most about myself. I got my weirdness from you. It annoyed me, and all the family, your restlessness, you would go away and wander for days at a time, then return as if you were here the whole time, no explanation.

Had I been wiser, I would have said:

Just stay still long enough to teach me all the wonderful things that my weird self wanted to learn. I wanted to learn the guitar, and know all about those plants growing along the hillsides and in the backyard, and how they could heal and soothe.

You were so gifted. You played the guitar, you were in a band. You could build houses, build furniture, draw and paint, your calligraphy was to die for. You knew every plant and their medicinal values. You were never ill, until much later in your life, just older age stuff, the unavoidable annoying stuff.

Then just when the time was right, when you were finally settling down a bit, to stay long enough to teach us some things........The stupid car accident happened, and you were with us no more. We won't say anything more about that.

Still, because of your wandering ways, it took three days between us and the police to realize that you had left us. We heard it on the news, "Well dressed gentleman, too well groomed to be homeless. Please contact the nearest police station to identify the body of your loved one". Your infernal roaming spirit prevented us from knowing that you were never coming home again in your earthly body, though you did in spirit. I know that you came to visit a bit before you went into that bright light that transported you into the beyond.

There were eight children, plus the temporary adoptees that mother had a continued circulation of, we were a lot to deal with. I now totally understand your need to take a breather every now and then, it was not fair to everyone, but you did what you thought you had to do. The bottom line is that you always came back even though you remain an enigma to this day.

There were those weekends when you imbibed and caused mighty raucousness in the household, those were no good for anyone, they just could have been better spent in more productive time with your family.

Then there were the funny things, do you remember when mother was in the hospital blessing us all with baby number seven, or was it eight. it's a bit fuzzy. You were making us a big pot of bean soup, all was going well, up until the point when, upon reaching for the salt, you mistakenly got the powdered soap instead. We had some really bubbly soup that evening.

It's ok, we could barely tell the difference, we were too young anyway. Sheesh! Yeah, we could.

Or the time when you roasted cashews and broke them out of the shells with the large stones, They were really good and we had fun. Unfortunately, three or four of the wee ones, went into the backyard and picked their own 'cashews', whacked them out with stones, ate them, and ended up mildly poisoning themselves, they had the worst stomach cramps and tummy aches, ended up in the hospital. You ended up giving a stern lecture on the dangers of eating strange fruits without first consulting our parents. Good times, they are so fleeting.

Back in the dark ages when I was growing up, we barely had pictures, heck we barely could afford food, much less a camera to take pictures. So we had one picture of you between us all. Somewhere in between living and moving as we got older, the photograph got misplaced. No one knows for sure where it is. But if we age the guy in my cover photo twenty or so years, he would be a spitting image of my father.

Needless to say the grandchildren and great grandchildren are not happy with this development. They keep niggling on about our ineptness in not providing them with an image of their grand and great grandfather. We live in different times young ones. Where once images were a luxury, they are now as prolific as the water that we drink, or the water in the ocean. They consume seventy or more percent of our attention.

I remember you father in the same haphazard way that my story is presented. It is like trying to find the pieces to a puzzle by seeking them through a magnifying glass. The harder I try to fit the pieces together, the more they keep evading me.

As fathers go, you were not a bad father, I guess you did your best with what you had to work with. If you think about it, that is all most of can really do. Some of us just get the business of life better than others do, it is the luck of the draw.

Happy Father's Day father.

Here is hoping that your restlessness is taking you to many happy places.

Until we meet again. I understand you now, by discovering me.

N.A.