This was my first post for this blog . I suppose that I wrote about my father for several reasons . One of them is a memory going back to the day of my graduation from high school . I had written a story for our high school’s literary review . My dad said , ” I didn’t know you could write like that !”. I remember that moment .
I re-post this first one , I suppose , because I begin to wonder what in hell I’m doing writing this blog . Why does it seem to have no focus , no direction , no purpose ? Often I think that I will start another blog that would have a clear theme , a direction , one that fits easily into particular categories . Or , I might rename this blog : Somewhat Controlled Chaos or Visiting Nowheresville or Nothingmuch Coagulated .
Nevertheless , I think that I’ll keep writing . I have patient regular readers in this country , in Poland , and in Germany . Thanks , guys ! People from several other countries have checked in , too , from Australia , Greece , UK , Saudi Arabia , United Arab Emirates , Canada , Sweden , Russia , France , Korea , Brazil , Argentina , Indonesia , ….
Here it is again :
My father wore galoshes . One of James Joyce’s characters in The Dead has taken to wearing galoshes . A very modern man . My father was on the other end of time , a very old- fashioned man . At times . I thought .
But dad was a scientist , a nuclear scientist . A very modern man . I seem to be on the other end of time , a very old- fashioned man . At times ? All the time , I’m afraid . I think. If not a Luddite , at least I’m most of the way there . Living in a crowded mind ; cluttered ; cramped .
If I had the curiosity of a scientist , or of most of the people I know , or of a flea , I think I’d be a happier man . I’ve become a person walled into the basement that is my brain , remembering , flashing on events that have long since passed , watching the yellowing photographs that are unchanged ( maybe invalid ) memories . Caught .
This post is the first scraping of eventual escape . Claw through that mortar . Freedom . Eye openings . The return of that childhood curiosity and adventure that I left behind somewhere . Bear with me . Give me a kick ( a comment ) or two once in awhile. We can travel together through the halls of here . And there too , I suppose .