Musing

today’s Musing written and published from my home near Fish Creek Park in Calgary

9C/49F (high 18C), damp, damp, damp rainy weekend - gray everywhere, Gusta perplexed by duck children taking swimming lessons as we walked by the lagoon - like a morning at the Y, fathers hanging back at the edge while youngsters paddle; I arrived back from Vancouver (photo attached - scroll down - shows my playing partners from the other day - Russ, Chris and Frank Chris at the Globe lemonade stand), Carla arrived for the weekend (Krista had to work so
she did not come), rain arrived, fathers day weekend arrived - feels like Vancouver, looks like Vancouver, damp too; drying out, drinking splendid coffee, hangin' out with one of my kids, I read my Globe, time to write

I am at one moment a father, a son, both the observer and the observed; more poignant for me each year are those chats with friends who lost their father; not that they have misplaced him at a rink or swimming pool somewhere, but because he died along the way

I miss times I was not there to be what I ought to have been for my children; I miss moments we never had, treasure ones we did; Carla is here with me this weekend, Krista not . . I’ll miss her but we don’t need to be together to feel strongly connected; 200 miles or 20 days or 2 lifetimes cannot break that kind of connection; I have no idea how my children view me now; sure I know what they say and I think I get it by watching their words, behaviours, tone, expressions; one day when they are middle aged and I am very old I wonder how they will view me then, how they will view the father I was at 29, at 49 or 89 – noses out of joint now and again, feelings misplaced, but in the long run I don’t think our feelings for each other are misplaced at all – I am who I am supposed to be, as are they


some of us must have misplaced our fathers, because we miss them so much?

I am luckier than so many; mine is still with me - a mile away, I talk to him daily, see him at least once a week, but I miss him; I miss the playing we didn't do when I was a toddler but a simple smile now erases all of that; I miss the hangin' around rough-housing we didn't do when I was a teen - but that seems pale compared to a few minutes over a meal or taking him
on an errand to get that something special he needs; I may have missed some things he never was but they are nothing to me now

do we misplace our fathers?

not left someplace like some mitten or forgotten like yesterday's news - but misplaced as in put in the wrong place, misplaced as in that we hold onto the some very old (perhaps skewed) view of them; some people think their fathers were too old, too young, too distant, too close; some were never around and some would never leave; some were everything and some were nothing much at all; holding on to the view we might have had at 5 or 7 or 19 is no less real than the moment it takes to call up the memory, to relive the feelings we had about what horror the 5 or 7 or 19 yr old in us remembers

I may have misplaced a lot of feelings about my dad sometimes over the years, sometimes because I was genuinely aggrieved but mostly because I was not smart enough then to know that things were just as they were supposed to be – he was supposed to be him, I was supposed to be me – we were, we are, we always will be

sometimes absent, sometimes not engaged – most times he did not or could not tell me how he felt; his actions spoke pretty loud, still do – I may have misplaced my assessment of him from time to time but it seems he was a consistent man who never wavered from how he felt about his son, ever; to be my father’s son could not be better in any way I know

I’ll miss him when he is gone, but he will never be misplaced

Mark Kolke
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Musings need not be a monologue, but rather a dialogue opportunity to discuss issues that touch a nerve or a heart-string, a sore point or a point of view that will contribute to the discussion. Your responses are welcomed, use your reply button – please give me your feedback/comments.

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