Maggie's Farm

We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.

Our Recent Essays Behind the Front Page

Much Sorry with Delays
Birth, Death and All That Stuff in Between
How to Honor Labor Day, Every Day
My Yom Kippur Miracle (Repost from 2010)
Good intro to fly casting
Peach update, with pie
NYC update
Easy for you to say: To the elites on mass immigration
For NYC on 9/11, Sailors' Snug Harbor
Pickled Peaches
Water Shoes
Labor Costs in U.S.
Your "identity"
Good news about The Great Courses
Uses of Hot Pepper Jelly/Sauce, Chutneys, and Jams
A Saturday Drive to Litchfield County, CT
How to Pick a Kayak
Civilized: Fruit forks and knives
Loads of kayaking on Cape Cod
Psychology Experiments' Questionable Results

Categories


All categories

Quicksearch

Links

Blog Administration

Open login screen

RSS Readers

Add to Google

Subscribe with Bloglines

Monday, June 21. 2010

Fathers

The final lines from a Robert Hayden poem posted by neoneo yesterday. A poet who understood fatherhood:


What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?


Many Moms do not know that, but they know other things. Dads know.

Posted by Bird Dog in The Culture, "Culture," Pop Culture and Recreation at 12:26 | Comments (2) | Trackbacks (0)

Trackbacks
Trackback specific URI for this entry

No Trackbacks

Comments
Display comments as (Linear | Threaded)

When my dad went into the hospital for the final time I sensed that he knew it would be his last visit there. I had some time alone with him and mentioned that I must have caused him a great deal of grief once upon a time.

"No, you didn't. I knew you'd come around and be OK."

I was due to travel on business early the next morning and idly mentioned that I would cancel the trip.

"No," he said. "Go. You have work to do. I'll be here when you get back."

I was called home early. It was during that return travel that I first fully understood that I was a father and mortal. He was there, as he'd promised, but only in the general physical sense.

An imperfect man who always did his best for us. Never less.
#1 Knucklehead (Link) on 2010-06-21 15:25 (Reply)
Nice poem BD.
Equally nice tribute to your dad, Knucklehead.
All in all when you look back on life it's a pretty short ride.
Keep looking forward, because when we look back Father time is gaining on us. The miserable son of a bitch.
#1.1 jappy on 2010-06-21 18:04 (Reply)

Add Comment
(Your e-mail will not show in your comment)

By commenting on this site you agree to the site rules listed here. Email
addresses will not be displayed and will only be used for email notifications.

Quick reference guide: [i] italics [/i], [b] bold [/b], [u] underline [/u],
[url] (web address) [/url]. More tips here.

Enclosing asterisks marks text as bold (*word*), underscore are made via _word_.
E-Mail addresses will not be displayed and will only be used for E-Mail notifications.

To prevent automated Bots from commentspamming, please enter the string you see in the image below in the appropriate input box. Your comment will only be submitted if the strings match. Please ensure that your browser supports and accepts cookies, or your comment cannot be verified correctly.
CAPTCHA

BBCode format allowed
 
 
A Chris Southern Consulting website.