I like this photo because it looks like he was beamed in there by aliens from the "Starship Tour-bus".
Dad was a veracious reader but I don't think he ever wrote anything. He often professed to "not understand my poetry". (At the time I was going through my ee cummings, mixed with Tristan Tzara, blended with a little Francis Picabia thrown in for good measure "phase".) I think the Grammarian in him just couldn't handle the way I mangled and played with words.
Mom has been in and out of the Hospital allot recently.
Mom and Dad made a good pairing from the beginning. They were both born in 1925. They met when they were in the third grade. The story goes that Mom sent Dad her first love letter in third grade.
...about the age she began sending love letters...
(I wonder why my Dad wasn't scared off by that hat?)
Me Ma & Da,
They were never privy to things
that I have come to know
Burns, Gilmour, Pollock & O'Brien
Poets and Priests on every side
was there ever a need to choose
to become what I have come to be
the past is comforting
it billets my future
and beckons me come....
Sept of 1982 age 57.
"The Pot O' Gold at the Beginning & End of Dad's Rainbow!"
I got the best of both worlds from both of them.
Happy Fathers Day!