17 October 2006
A picture is worth...
I have taken to entering blogspot entries via e-mail. It is less time consuming and allows for a better editing process. Alas, I am unable to determine how to input hypertext links via e-mail, much less pictures! I spend some time selecting the photos which I steal, I mean appropriately link, from across the web. My question to you, dear reader is does it matter? Is the substance of the words the reason for your visit or the shiny images? Lately blogger has been very reticent to accept pictures, I suppose I will have to switch to the Beta.
Things have been tumultuous in Citizen Deux land. My father suffered a coronary "incident" and was quickly evacuated by my ever able and much beloved brother from the heartland of the Appalachians. He is doing better, thank you. I am constantly overwhelmed by the strength of my feelings for him. He is truly a heroic figure in my eyes. In fact, over the years his stature has increased rather than diminished. Being a father and husband now, I am reminded and humbled daily about the challenges and emotion required to be successful in those roles.
My own father practiced his art in a different time, no internet, cell phones or reality TV. And yet his lessons resonate with me. He stood by his family, no matter what. He expressed his unconditional love for his children. He supported his wife during times of crisis. He worked hard to provide a better life than he experienced and took genuine joy in the unfolding of his own life. He used the experiences he had gained to instruct and guide his children and no doubt held his tongue when he felt some more forceful guidance was warranted.
He always practiced honesty. He is honest in his beliefs, honest in his affection and honest in his humility. A man of more integrity, I have not met. There were times when his colleagues and peers around him chose to give up or give in. Whether to despair or temptation, he did not. I realize this sounds a bit like a eulogy, but I feel compelled to reflect upon my relationship with him as I work to impart his wisdom through my eyes to my own two sons. I am called to imagine the love he feels for his own wife of almost fifty years as I approach a mere sixteen with Citizen Une.
Certainly my father has his clay shoes, which he wears less often than I. Additionally, I realize that my parents were indeed greater than the sum of themselves and yet at this moment I look to my father for his strength and wisdom, even if asked only in silence.