2344 Ghost Dad.

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Shane, who checks my pages for typos, pointed out that this was the perfect dad sad squad. Not in those exact words, but it’s till accurate. Although, as he also said, who doesn’t have some kind of issues with their father? I know I started having far fewer issues with mine when Patreon started helping me monetize my work. (ZING!) I’m always surprised when dad tells me a story from his youth because he’s not the kind of man to do that very often. It makes me wish my memory was better because I can never recall the tales perfectly later. My grandfather told me the story of the time he ran away for several months and lived by busking. I can’t tell it properly, & now he can’t either. So this half remembered memory lives in me, but that’s all. It wasn’t committed to permanence. It’s a better story than anything I’ve ever done & was only a few month of his life. Im not sure what aspect of that is the saddest.


Jackie’s cooments, today, reminded me of an idea from the 1998 film, Smoke Signals. (Paraphrased):

…Do we ever forgive our fathers,…for divorcing our mothers?
…Do we ever forgive our fathers,…for [not] divorcing our mothers?

…Do we ever forgive people, for being [exactly] who they are?

On the topic of busking and great stories:

I have some good stories to tell, but a lot of them weren’t great to experience as they were happening. I am not saying that I am not glad that I had them, but that coin has two sides two…

Invest in a good voice recorder. Save and store and all good. Or any smart phone with a decent memory amount to it. Heh or write them out in an email or journal entry to yourself for what you Do remember now.

My Dad was always fond of the story of the time he ran away from home…
He went to the corner of my Grandmother’s property and climbed a tree.

Because he wasn’t allowed to cross the street.

That is adorable! I love the logic in “The corner of the property.” That is beautiful.

When I was small Mother added a great flavor of Wry to our lives. When I was about 5, I decided I’d had enough and was gonna run away. I ran upstairs to my room to pack. She came upstairs after I’d calmed down a bit, sat on the bed and asked me if I wanted her to help pack, so I wouldn’t forget to bring anything important.
She and I had many of those moments where we could let each other know how much we loved each other.
Father was not nearly so subtle, nor adept at dealing with the emotionally messy stuff. But he was a great reference and moral guide … unless you were in the middle of a crisis.

We may all have problems with dad, but we’re lucky we had a dad. With exceptions. It’s sad how many kids don’t have a dad at all; either he skipped, or he doesn’t know he has kids, or mom doesn’t want him around anyway, whatever. I’ve gone to therapy due to my dad, but still, even my mother admits she would not have done a good job raising me and my brother alone.

You bet.
There’s an old, Russian saying: “If you want to know how much something is worth, ask someone who doesn’t have it.”

My uncle was in WWII, but he almost never talked about it. From what I understood, he never saw much action, as he was stationed… wherever… after most of the fighting. But, speaking to his sister not long before he passed away, he talked about eating lunch behind a dozer blade and hearing bullets bounce off it. “Made you nervous, but you got used to it.” No, I don’t think I would.
We so often don’t realize the stories and experiences there in those all around us.

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