At the beginning and end of every day, I face myself; I am unmasked.
The voices of children clamoring for attention are silenced, and the strength of my husband is distant.
I stand in the bright, unforgiving light that underscores the marks of time – those lines that map the road of my life.
I’ve been traveling this road for over four decades, and it stretches out before me still, as misty and twisted as it ever was. I have no more idea what lies ahead than I had at the beginning of the journey, but I know what lies behind.
Deep within the hard, cold surface of the glass is a lifetime of love and support — of dreams realized and others lost.
Behind me is a tiny girl who cannot tie her shoes. She struggles with the loops, as a patient voice explains… tireless hands demonstrate….
There is shared laughter and joy.
Behind me is a voice on the telephone. Thousands of miles away, he listens without judging when someone has died… or a marriage has ended…
There are shared tears and anguish.
A figure stands at every difficult turn in the road already walked, steadying my balance, helping me back to my feet, and even guiding me back when I wandered. When the road was wide and clear, he walked beside me in shared wonder and delight.
In the gray, uncharted distance still ahead are perils and traps, joy and laughter — but I stride forward hopefully and fearlessly. The winding path of my future is already blazed; signposts were erected long ago, even as I took my early, hesitant, unsteady steps at the trailhead.
The image blurs, and I see myself — but I am not alone.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.
The man in my mirror
Leave a Reply
Read Next
Houston has had a rash of gang-related killings. It’s getting harder to keep track of, but according to the Chronicle, we’re at six, now, in the last three weeks. Understandably, the community is concerned. “What’s happening to our children?”, they’re …
So — my travails along the unbelievably steep learning curve continued last night, as I went out for the first time ever to shoot long exposures and the sunset. I’ll show you some of the shots, and then I’ll tell …
Since the DVR cut off the end of American Idol, I (and probably a million other frustrated people) spent the last hour trying to hunt down a video of Adam Lambert performing tonight. It was worth the hunt. Talent like …
As the parent of an increasingly angst-ridden adolescent, I think this was the hardest thing I’ve read in a long time: When Megan’s mother returned home, she found her daughter crying at the computer. After reading the messages, she criticized …
Amen, Polimom, Amen. Here’s to my old once-open-a-Harley, twice into the Army, 11 kids fathered, half his voicebox out, gravel-voiced, 50 years and counting with my good momma Dad. Here’s to him. (And here’s s song I wrote about him one Father’s Day—-without realizing it was Father’s Day—long ago.)
Oh, sorry–it’s the song called “Donald.”
Thom — Thanks so much for sharing the link and song. You’re a wonderful guitar player, btw! I’m jealous!
I hope your dad enjoyed your song as much as mine did this post.
It’s impossible to overstate a father’s impact, and in many ways (though I wish less of the road was behind me), I’m glad I’m old enough now to articulate my love and gratitude.
Hey, thanks Polimom, for going and listening, I really appreciate it. And as far as my Dad enjoying the song–ha! As soon as I finished it, with all the family around, he got up , said (graveled) “Write a song for your mother!” and wallked away. He HATED the stage, bless him. (I already had written one for my ma, BTW.)
Yes and yes. It’s funny and sad and stupid or something that so many of us take so long to grow up into love. Especially for us guys, I think you’d agree. I unabashedly love the old grouch, and he knows it.
Happy days to you. I’ll be back.