Author Archives: Guy Oliver

Fathers and Sons

“I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”

― Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

GrandpaAs a society, we don’t acknowledge fathers in the way that we acknowledge mothers.  While we set aside a day we call Father’s Day, this was a historical afterthought.  Father’s day was conceived, and later celebrated, a year after the inception of Mother’s Day, on the heels of a Mother’s Day sermon.

Predictably, it was a woman who proposed Father’s Day.  The suggestion made by the fairer sex is predictable, because men do not seek adulation as fathers.  We do not bother promoting praise for the same reason society does not.  Neither men nor society see the role as an honor, relegating it instead to a duty — like going to work.

Now, if you ask ten strangers on the street, whether fathers are important, you would receive a nod “yes” from all ten.  That said, affirming paternal importance, no way mirrors the adoration we offer mothers, especially on their special day.

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Filed under Life or Something Like It, Parenting

Texas

texas-flag

A black pickup.
An open tailgate.
Forearms resting on the perpendicular rails.
A foot resting on the running board. Continue reading

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Filed under Life or Something Like It

Mythical Creatures

The torment of precautions often exceeds the dangers to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one’s self to destiny.

– Napoleon Bonaparte

AbnormalcyThere is a fable that suggests the best artists are tormented and there is, further, a rather ubiquitous belief that to be a really good artist, torment is prerequisite.  That the reason they paint so beautifully, write such stirring lyrics and musical compositions, and are capable of writing such dark and moving stories, is because the content comes from somewhere equally dark and confusing and hellish.  I characterize this observation as a fable because fables, while not being accepted as strictly factual, have at their core an element of truth that cannot be denied.

The fable that I, myself, have advanced for the purpose of humor is that this notion is particularly true of writers.  That we are somehow more vulnerable to the darkness foisted upon the human race than are the rest of you.  Like the proverbial pearl, from the substrate of our overly sensitive souls, an infection of what would be a minor irritant to the average person, causes unending tears that ultimately produce something pure and beautiful and nearly translucent.  And I’m not alone in advancing this notion.

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Filed under Life or Something Like It, Writerly Travails