bigsky
05-08-2016, 01:52 PM
Nothing, and that is a lot in a year of a widowmaker heart attack and getting fired, and stepping down from Mayor and from Regent, nothing has affected me as much as standing up at my Dad's funereal, and talking about him, in front of my son and my brothers.
I always say "families are weird" but perhaps many are straightforward, (Dad or Mom is my best friend, spirit guide, person I turn to, etc). Facebook pictures on "Parents-es Days" are perfect for you. The old song "Teach your children well" is good for some sweet pedal steel work.
For many of us on the road we must find a different code that we can live by. Eulogies and Hallmark holiday Facebook posts are complicated by the errors of the past.
If we are lucky, we've reconciled, forgiven, moved on or away, hit another gear, found some common ground. I did this by appreciating that family weirdnesses are seldom the result of one generation.
So here's to the generations of imperfection that have gone before me, to the private pains you shared with those of the generation before you, to the gold in the dross, the nuggets of good days and bright memories, to how we triumph together.
Speaking about my Dad, while looking at my son looking at me, was looking at the generations reflected in parallel mirrors, endless receding images requiring no judgment, only acceptance of what they show us, a picture of who we are.
Happy Mothers' Days
I always say "families are weird" but perhaps many are straightforward, (Dad or Mom is my best friend, spirit guide, person I turn to, etc). Facebook pictures on "Parents-es Days" are perfect for you. The old song "Teach your children well" is good for some sweet pedal steel work.
For many of us on the road we must find a different code that we can live by. Eulogies and Hallmark holiday Facebook posts are complicated by the errors of the past.
If we are lucky, we've reconciled, forgiven, moved on or away, hit another gear, found some common ground. I did this by appreciating that family weirdnesses are seldom the result of one generation.
So here's to the generations of imperfection that have gone before me, to the private pains you shared with those of the generation before you, to the gold in the dross, the nuggets of good days and bright memories, to how we triumph together.
Speaking about my Dad, while looking at my son looking at me, was looking at the generations reflected in parallel mirrors, endless receding images requiring no judgment, only acceptance of what they show us, a picture of who we are.
Happy Mothers' Days