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I Have Become My Dad

When I was growing up, I never had much of a relationship with my dad. I could cite many reasons. But the most prevalent reason  was how he was raised and the times in which I grew up. Dad was a product of the depression era. He was raised in an environment when times were hard. It was a “no nonsense” way of life. It was hard work and struggles just to survive with little room for emotions. Back in the day, a man might show affection for his daughter(s) but his son(s) was different. His son represented the hard work and struggles of life. A son was expected to become hard. To work and live without emotional tanglements.  When I was a child, there was a nursery rhythm that explains better what I am trying to convey.

“Little girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice”. “Little boys are made of hammers and nails and puppy dog tails”.

My dad was a good man. Like all of us, he had his faults. We never went hungry, we were always clothed and a roof over our head. When it came to affection or emotion, as his son, he was cold. I’m not being critical, just stating a fact. In his world, that transcended into my world, that was just the way it was. So, our relationship was not bad, but it was very casual.

As I grew into adulthood, I did nothing to try and change our relationship. It was what it was. By this time, I was OK with it. I had become accustom to it. In fact, for the most part, what I became as an adult in this respect, was what my father taught me. I was cool and distant. I prefer to think I wasn’t as extreme as he, but then, that’s just my opinion.

As my dad became older, his outlook on our relationship changed. I look back and I can see things differently. In retrospect, I see where he reached out in different ways in an effort to establish, or change how he and I interacted (or didn’t interact.) However, at the time, I wasn’t interested in changing anything. I was comfortable with things the way I had been taught they should be.

Dad aged, as we all do, but mentally, dad’s aging took its toll. His memory started to fade. No longer could he remember events. After a while he couldn’t remember his grand kids. Eventually he even struggled to recognize his wife. Never at anytime during his mental decline, did he fail to recognize me!!! When I would visit him and I have to be honest. I visited him out of guilt. I didn’t visit him because I wanted to and certainly not out of compassion or concern. After all, he and I never had a normal father/son relationship. But when I did visit, sometimes with my  family in tow, he never failed to recognize me as his son. He might not recognize or acknowledge anyone else in the room, but he never failed to call me Son.

My dad has passed. Often I sit and think about what could have been. Many times I wish I could ask him questions, talk to him about things. I ponder the things he and I could have done together, had either of us made the effort.

Like my dad, I am now aging. I now have the same regrets he may have had. I now see the faults in my role as a father. I often wonder if my dad had the same thoughts as he looked back over his life. I see so much of him in me. I was a witness to his aging, as I witness my own. Many times I look back and say to myself: I wished I had done — so and so, or I wish I had said — so and so. I wonder if some day, when I’m no longer around, if my son will say the same to his self?

Life allows us to look back and re-exam our past. The problem is – generally we wait until it’s too late to do anything about it.

Specific

specific
I am being very specific about writing this blog about being specific. I have no idea what it is I am writing. However I shall specifically remain specific to whatever topic I choose. If I am seeking to be specific in a descriptive way, then I shall provide exact, precise and/or ambiguous details to my blog. On the other hand. Were I wishing to use specific as a noun, then I would strive to use it in, particular details and/or facts to my specific topic.

To be specifically honest, I am quite bored and have no specific idea what I am writing.

Watching for Spring

float
I sit among the cold darken throws of winter. I gaze out to the barren landscape of stripped trees. Their leaves fallen to the ground and covered by a fresh layer of snow. Crystals of ice floats in the air. The colors of the day are eye blinding white, with patches of gray and dark shadows. A void of mind exploding hues makes the soul wish for warmer times. Spring, though months away, still brings a vision within the mind of a more colorful surrounding. A time when all outdoors come alive with the vastness of an artist’s palette. Spying a lone butterfly and becoming mesmerized by the graceful movement of this Papillon as it floats between the majestic flowers of nature’s rainbow. Enthralled by the effortless movement of a simple creature floating through a kaleidoscope we call spring.

I gaze out into a cold wilderness, with visions of spring floating in my head.

I had my First “LIKE”today

I had my first “LIKE” today. It is comparable to a child receiving a piece of candy for cleaning their room:)  It is rewarding, enlightening, it is that “warm and fuzzy” feeling you get when all is well in your world.  It is like a diploma, recognition for completing something of value. Someone “Liked” something I mentally and physically arranged. My game of words, brought me a LIKE. It doesn’t really matter whether someone “Liked” my arrangement of words and thoughts. What truly matters is someone took of their time, to examine the formation of worded communicated dialog I choose to put on paper. What matters is not my words, but someone gave me a moment of their time. Their time is far more valuable than my effort to formulate thoughts into words. A “LIKE” is “TIME” measured in a different form.

Year

Year
365 days ago (364 and hours, but who’s counting) I sat here pondering what the new years has in store. Will it be a good year, or bad? Will I live another year? Will I meet my personal goals? Will I fall in love? out of love? Will the world be a safer place? or more violet?

As I sat, coffee in hand, mentally exploring the vast unknowns of the coming year of 2016 I made notes to myself of what I anticipated, my wants and expectations. I look back at the year 2016 as if I were looking into the future. I see the reality of events as compared to my vision of expectations. The impact of how insignificant my influence is to the making of a giant vast of time slowly creeps into my soul. I am but a small drop of rain in a vast ocean of small drops of rain. But, in the micro boundaries of the small pool of water that is my personal life, my 1 drop of rain can be measured.

So, I sit here starring at the creation of 2017. Pondering what the year has in store. Am I wrong to desire to focus more on the small pool and no longer gaze across the vast ocean of reality? What is it that changes ones focus? Do we change focus as age creeps up? Are we distracted by our failed expectations of the past years? Or, do we just come to terms with the inherent revelation that time is nothing but a cosmic blink, in a infinite universe that cannot be measured.

364 days and hours from now, I will be sitting, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on a void of time, speculating what is to come and what impact it will have.