Father’s Day versus Father Time. Recently I was up in Washington state and was reminded of my father and my lineage. I’d been having cause to think of my mom, but the universe kept nudging my thoughts back to dad. I was driving and saw a 1970’s Lincoln that was a doppelganger for the one dad had in that state. At the same time I was talking to Carla about marketing, business, and financial strategy feeling my father was either in the car with us or in my head and heart. As Carla might say “I felt the presence of my ancestors”.
My lineage on my father’s side goes back to a Grandfather I knew well. While my dad was a deep sea and salmon fisherman, Grandpa was a trout fisherman in Colorado. Both were quiet strong men with an amazing work ethic. I always remember Grandpa didn’t talk because he was chewing tobacco (Red Man and plug Days Work) and spitting in a coffee can. He also had a big garden from which I ate strawberries and got very dirty. He and Grandma used to sit at the kitchen table and drink iced tea; or Grandpa would have some Bourbon (I know he had some bottles hidden in the closets too).
I also don’t speak too often and when I do Carla often suggests I hurry up and finish whatever point I’m trying to make. My dad was a smart man who didn’t speak much (he didn’t chew tobacco but he did smoke) but when he spoke it was wise to listen. Mom would periodically interrupt when dad slowly spoke, and he would answer “Marcie let me finish”. I think somehow Carla has channeled mom and I’m in my dad’s role.
I still sometimes try to hear those words of my dad and grandpa. As I get older and Father Time seems to be winning the battle I feel a kinship grow to my ancestors both male and female. As Father’s Day nears and I age, very gracefully I hope I still begin to contemplate mortality, impermanence, and finality. The circle of time waits for no man. Perhaps I’ll meet my ancestors in person again some day. But I’m not in any hurry, maybe that is why I speak so slowly. Happy Father’s Day.
