Fatherhood
My Hero
I was fortunate enough to have a great Father, not perfect but great as in he taught me well. He taught me great music. He taught me great stories. He taught me how to work with my hands and too put in an honest days labor. But most of all he taught me how to love myself by loving his family in such a way that when I think back on it now it brings a tear to my eye. He gave of himself not just when needed but every moment of every day, making sure we all had what we needed to get by. We were not rich by any means but we were very happy. I hear so many stories of people who could not relate to their parents and I never have anything to add to the conversation because I never knew what that was like, of course I like many kids didn't always get them or they me. But we laughed so much, all the time. They were so much fun.
By John P. Creekmore3 years ago in Men
Paternal Reflections
The first time I saw the film ‘Bullitt' I cried buckets, but I was the only one moved in this way. Apparently everyone else enjoyed the film! Even more strange, I did not discover the reason for this lachrymose flood until half-way through the movie, and the shock took some years to wear off.
By Elaine Sihera3 years ago in Men
Nature Versus Nurture
I used to say mean things about my dad. Not mean things, just not nice. True things, sure, but not kind. And by ‘say’ I mean confess. Not to a priest or detective or anything, just my therapist. All of my therapists. They all let me say these things and then smiled foxlike when such words poured out with accompanying tears. Like a mama fox, but still.
By Nicky Frankly3 years ago in Men
Message to the Monster. Content Warning.
Dear Headless man, How long had you been hiding beneath my bed? Didn’t you know that I was already afraid to fall asleep in the dark? Couldn’t you hear me crying out to my daddy almost every night that I couldn’t sleep. He would come to my room and give me half a baby aspirin and tell me it was a ‘sleeping pill’, smooth my ringlets and say, ‘It’s all right, Dolly, go to sleep.’
By Tina D'Angelo3 years ago in Men
True Love, Now
I’m ashamed to admit that during each of our first three meetings, I entertained the idea that James could be a creep. When we first met, I wouldn’t tell him what school I taught at, even after he knew where’d I’d gone to undergrad and that I thought that the erosion of public discourse could be remedied—or at least stymied—by teaching the Harkness method in English and social studies classrooms. Or that I felt inadequate as I watched weekly copies of the New Yorker pile up on my desk, their edges curling up like the legs of dead spiders. Even so, I wrote down my number on a little piece of notebook paper, so we could meet up again. Part of me wondered if I was stupid. But James said he worked professionally as an editor for the American Psychological Association, and I want to be a writer.
By Catherine Dorian3 years ago in Men
The Last Minute, Late Night Ramblings of a Loving Son
Let me preface this by saying: I love my dad. Anything I write here is merely meant as critique. Not criticism. He’s always been there for my sisters and me. He’s been steady and dependable. He’s always had a great job and been able to provide his share for us.
By Kevin Barkman3 years ago in Men
A Key Ingredient
The actual name of the lake is Lake Cleburne, but we always called it Aunt Sally's Lake. She was my aunt who owned a cabin on this private lake that had no more than ten cabins on it's shores. Her cabin was quaint and rested about half way around the lake, just off the main dirt road. There was a hill that led down to the covered docks that housed two Jon Boats. The wasps nests were plenty and snakes were sometimes sunbathing on the homemade, concrete and stone steps. Spider webs were ritually and methodically jabbed at with a broom to clear the passage to the dock and the boats.
By Shawn Bailey3 years ago in Men
