Saturday, November 13, 2004

Week Eleven Theme

My father stands 5'10". He's a salty man, a man of strong opinion. His saltiness is rivaled only by the stench of whiskey mixed with pipe tobacco. Years of pity and hatred have eroded away at his heart; I am quite certain that therein now lies what one could only consider the likeness of a prune. There was a time... yes, there was a time when a glimmer of mischief in his eye told you something was meant to be kept a secret. A time when all that was wrong with the world could be fixed by a tussle of the hair and a silent wink. Now, those same eyes lay glazed over; sedated and numbed by the effects of his good friend Mr. Daniels. Sadness filled the place where my father once dwelled; and I walked on.

My father never meant me any harm; his good judgment was masked by two sheets in the wind. Some time later he reconciled himself of all wrong done; but is it possible to apologize for that which one does not recall? Nevertheless, my heart filled with adoration for him and time healed old wounds. He became a man of wisdom, a confidant I could count on in times of confusion and doubt. His embrace smelt of cedar; his presence brought comfort. Then one day he was gone; snatched from us unaware. We were blind-sided by the very thing we knew was coming. Reconciliation lay buried at the top of the hill; and I walked on.

My father stands at a distance and holds out his arms to me. He wants me to come to him, to trust him, to believe in him. He calls himself my father based on the assumption that I know what that means. At times I weep and succumb; finding myself too weak to withstand his love. Other times I recoil in anger and disbelief; my devotion should be based on what? His patience waits out my childish fits. Steadfast and unchanging; his qualities appear too good to be true. Should I trust, or should I bolt the door to keep out the unknown? Skittish and guarded; I must make a decision... hold fast or walk on.

2 Comments:

Blogger johngoldfine said...

Whew, I never thought for a second this was anything but an inexhaustable topic. In fact, consider this: the mileage you've wrung from this has in itself been a a small recompense for what you've paid out in misery. In other words, the scales are slightly more balanced!

Nah, I don't really believe that, but writers eventually do make those calculations, wondering how to turn every and anything into material.

These grafs seem to me to ring yet another interesting and worthwhile change on The Topic. You sure know how to control your metaphors and use them to good advantage without beating your reader to death with them. Any more than that I dare not say--this is one of those unconventional approaches I adore as a reader and know enough, as a teacher, to not dream of messing with.

November 14, 2004 at 1:27 PM  
Blogger Erika Lynne said...

your writing is something that doesn't just tug at the heartstrings, it plays them like a melody. Whether happy or sad they are always full of emotion.. gripping. They hold your eyes fast from beginning to end. It's also amazing to me how you always manage to make the ending of all your pieces sound so natural. I'm glad you took this class at the same time I did, I have a lot of fun reading your work.

November 16, 2004 at 7:46 PM  

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