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The Mystic

Dad


The man is a mystic, a loner.

I think he is content all by himself.
He likes sitting by himself, lost in his thoughts.
He used to love long walks at night gazing at the stars, when he was young and able to.
He loves listening to Jim Reeves or Patsy Cline crooning as he relaxes after a hard day at work.
His is a man of faith, of prayer.

And yet, I have never let him be.

He was never by himself, having shouldered the reponsibility of his large number of siblings, his parents, his wife and his three kids.
There was no quiet for him, with our constant demands for attention.
Yet, if I am a good responsible human, who yearns for solitude, I owe it to him.

He could never really enjoy the stars, because he had three noisy kids who would walk with him at night, peppering with with a thousand questions.
And yet, today if I enjoy the moon at night or point out the stars to my wife, I silently thank him.

He would get barely 10 minutes of listening in, before I would hog the tape deck and blare disco and pop.
Today, it’s mostly his music that I listen to.

I have had several crises of faith. But I see his devotion and think, if God is good enough for him, He’s good enough for me.

Happy Birthday, Daddy! I love you.