my father’s shoes

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 .

Travel light . Bon voyage !                  


Filed under humor

3 responses to “my father’s shoes

  1. “Eye openings…” Epiphany, in Japanese, the Satori, literally a kick in the eye. Also Kensho ( Flannery called it grace, a gift, like galloshes, what a great word! You can hear them sucking in the mud, pulling out, ga-losh, gall-losh, gall-ash, haul-ass, all kinds of possibilities. Little Epip Fannie.

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