My dad has a lovely habit of writing about his life. He has always been the family storyteller, and it now continues in his many volumes of memoirs. This latest one is subtitle "Volume I" so you know more is already in the works. I enjoy his pithy writing style; the style in which he speaks. I can hear his voice as I read the words. This latest book is dedicated to my late mother. He writes about her so tenderly. His books are the place where he lets his vulnerability show. In life, he has quite a stiff upper lip.
Wednesday, November 10, 2021
My mother was a saint, truly. Dad is a benign narcissist and our childhood household revolved around him and his every wish. I'm positive he mansplained everything to my mother. My mother was a very intelligent person and didn't require his hovering absoluteness. He still tells his daughters (all in our sixties now) the proper way to, say, slice a tomato. My older sister simply drops the knife and steps away. "Well, you do it then." Of course he clutches his pearls at this robust assertiveness. Lest you think I don't love my dad, I do. Very very much. He was tough to be around when I was a teenager. I bent my friends' ears complaining about his ways. They remember some of those stories to this day. It's true to say I don't like him much (he requires too much energy and attentiveness) but I do love him. I also love his stories, and they provide keen insight.
At 89 years, with a heart condition, he hopes to get Volume II out in the next year. He is coming to stay with me at Christmastime, into the hotbed of Covid-19. I doubt Colorado will be any better in six weeks. We are at levels were at last November, and the hospitals are full. (Insert picture of me pulling my hair out.)
In addition to this heartfelt book dedication, he has started a scholarship in her name at Oakwood Friends School in Poughkeepsie NY, his high school alma mater, where he is on the board of directors. They also donated money to the capital fund at Oakwood to build a new theater, and have their names in bronze. They will live on.
In my heart, always.
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