Then There's THIS Guy

I didn't really get to know my Dad's Dad (something I sincerely regret to this day) nor did I ever get the chance to meet his Mother. My fondest memory of my Grandad was perhaps the only chance I got to really see what part he played in turning Dad into who he is today (I don't claim to know what did it for sure, I wasn't around then but I'm hazarding a few guesses here); it was when he came to visit us on Kelly Island, shortly after we had moved to Southern Ontario. He sat down at our little electric organ and played Barnacle Bill the Sailor, singing in a deep bass voice. Suddenly this serious, ex-military, and as far as I was concerned phenomenally old man was a weird, bouncy thing. There was a spring in his rhythm and a spark in his eyes, and I remember thinking, "This is where my father came from."

My Dad is a poet, although I had no idea until I was a teenager.

My Dad is an artist, although I had no idea how much of it he had put aside for his family.

My Dad is a man of nature, although I had a difficult time understanding what that meant.

My Dad is inquisitive, and by God I'm glad he passed that on to his children.

You see, we all used to poke fun at him for reading every plaque he crossed, or sometimes we would be on vacation and he'd be struck by a certain type of tree and he would ask the locals what it was called. This sometimes embarrassed us, but it was usually just an "Oh, Daaaaad," moment. Now that I'm grown (more or less), I find myself walking through the Mount Pleasant park/graveyard, struck dumb by the Red Japanese Maple trees there, and being driven to find other interesting things and find out what they are. It suddenly dawned on me that were it not for my father, I might not be experiencing the joy of nature and discovery. My Dad taught me many things, but the biggest, most important thing was how to look (and I'm not just talking about nature anymore). How to really see things. How to let myself be mystified.

After having studied Zen for a while, I've been getting obsessed with trying to spot people's true selves (counter-productive if you know anything about Zen, but shut up, it's interesting), and whenever I see my Father laugh it is, without a doubt, Who He Really Is. It's one, loud guffaw. A "HAH!" followed by several, much quieter guffaws. Whenever he laughs I have to restrain myself from saying "There you are!" When I come home to visit, no matter what troubles he is having, his face will always light up. I believe he sees something in his family that few others can see.This photo is a picture of eyes that, whether they know it or not, see God in everything.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thank you.