I only met your dad once, maybe in 1981, when he came out to Santa Barbara for one of your first art exhibits. I'm sure the evening had a theme, but what I remember is a collage of Picasso's head in the bull's eye of a super imposed dart board. (Where is that, by the way?) Your dad, all curly red hair and smiles, charmed me onto the dance floor. I thought he was a really good dancer, and I had a lot of fun. He seemed happy to see you in your element. And I never imagined I wouldn't see him again.
Thank you so much for this, Teri. It's wonderful to hear that my dad danced with you at that event. My assessment of him as a non-dancer in "My Father, Myself" was utterly misinformed; I stand humbly (and happily) corrected. Wherever you are, dad: I offer my apology.
My dad also died at 54 - When I, and especially my brother, turned 54, we realized how we’d never really allowed ourselves to imagine living beyond that and now had to open up to the possibility of a long life. Odd. I loved the LA essay, especially this line: "hauling huge bags of goose feathers into the clouds."
Jeff: Reading this brought back many fond memories of Bob. The picture is exactly how I remember him. He is forever implanted in my childhood and he remains in my heart.
Despite the complicated nature of the relationship you had with your father, it sounds like he was not only inspired by, but genuinely proud of the man that you turned out to be. Beautiful writing, as always.
What a beautiful tribute to Dad ! loved reading it. I also loved the rest of your post, I'm so proud of you, Jeff. I love you so much. I hope you will continue writing and appreciating all the wonderful sights you see in your travels for many yuears to come..
I only met your dad once, maybe in 1981, when he came out to Santa Barbara for one of your first art exhibits. I'm sure the evening had a theme, but what I remember is a collage of Picasso's head in the bull's eye of a super imposed dart board. (Where is that, by the way?) Your dad, all curly red hair and smiles, charmed me onto the dance floor. I thought he was a really good dancer, and I had a lot of fun. He seemed happy to see you in your element. And I never imagined I wouldn't see him again.
Thank you so much for this, Teri. It's wonderful to hear that my dad danced with you at that event. My assessment of him as a non-dancer in "My Father, Myself" was utterly misinformed; I stand humbly (and happily) corrected. Wherever you are, dad: I offer my apology.
My dad also died at 54 - When I, and especially my brother, turned 54, we realized how we’d never really allowed ourselves to imagine living beyond that and now had to open up to the possibility of a long life. Odd. I loved the LA essay, especially this line: "hauling huge bags of goose feathers into the clouds."
Jeff: Reading this brought back many fond memories of Bob. The picture is exactly how I remember him. He is forever implanted in my childhood and he remains in my heart.
This is a great heartfelt story! Genuine and real, I loved every minute of reading this story, Thank You for sharing, Sincerely, Julie
Bittersweet and beautiful. And the writing is just fabulous.
Despite the complicated nature of the relationship you had with your father, it sounds like he was not only inspired by, but genuinely proud of the man that you turned out to be. Beautiful writing, as always.
What a beautiful tribute to Dad ! loved reading it. I also loved the rest of your post, I'm so proud of you, Jeff. I love you so much. I hope you will continue writing and appreciating all the wonderful sights you see in your travels for many yuears to come..
Thank you, Mom. Means a lot coming from you.
About your father, Nepal and trekking. I like it. Best, Mickey