Friday, June 15, 2012

Cheyenne? Papa? Pawpaw? Nahh! Just Dad

Mona Lisa's smile.  That's got to be it!  That little smirk that has drawn so many comments over the centuries.  What does it mean?  Why did the artist give this lady that little upturn of her lip?  Of course nobody knows except Rembrandt and she, but that smile belies an understanding of something she knows and Mr. Rembrandt knows, but all who look upon it now don't know, but nontheless are quite opinioned about it.  Maybe a private little joke between her and the artist. A romantic undertone?  Bell's palsy?

Now look at my Dad.  Is that little smirk there or am I imagining?  If it is, it's the same look that hints of "I know something that you don't" and it captures the essence of his private demeanor.  And when I say private demeanor, don't for one second consider him to have ever been a wilting lilly as to his personality.  No sir!  That would grossly misinterpret his inner mental workings.   And may I say that his inner mental workings were cranking at full capacity up until the day they played the soft music.  Being reserved was his nature, but his reservations lasted only for as long as it took to capture the "moment" in a room full of conversations. Thereafter, a party's host could never have requested a more engaging party strutter than he!  Not a lampshade on his head kind of guy.  No.  His contribution would be good, relavant conversation with you complete with the facial expressions that subtitle his words so carefully offered.

Look at that face.  Is it only me who thinks that mischief is lying just beneath?  As I write this piece, I find that I am subliminally coughing up hauty, unfamiliar words and visual literations in a limp mimic of his ability to do just that!  My Dad was a self-educated,  passionate WORDSMITH!   He loved words.  He engineered their arrangement.  He abhored their misuse.  He loved the subtlties surrounding their meanings.  Oh so many meanings, all of which change with inflection or patter within the context of a sentence or conversation.   And don't you know that this wordsmith ability is as genetic as brown hair and big feet, and I see it in my two daughters each time I'm with them or read what they write.  (Let me get out of this quickly...................... Neither of them have big feet!)   OMG,  I couldn't let that dangle out there too long!

Isn't it just amazing how dear someone becomes once they are gone from your life.  Dad passed away in 2004 and it's just the oddest thing for him not to be here. I have often thought I would like to meet him now at some sandwich place and just have the most ordinary of conversations with him.  No emotion.  No tears or choked words.  Just a conversation to catch up.  Not along the line of "what's Heaven like?" or "is the Apostle Paul a short guy?"  No.  More along the line of "who was that guy you floated down the Ohio River with from Indiana on your young man's adventure?  I remember you telling that story years ago, but I can't place his name."  Then I would pay the bill (this really is a dream!) and I'll see you later Dad.  Maybe we just get one opportunity to do this when there are two people on different sides of the veil, but I'm just dreamin'.  Is that just a wild thought or what? 

And don't you know that there comes a time when all the thoughts you have of the departed are pleasant ones, not the moments that were embarrasing, strained or angry.  For some reason, I simply think of the funny things or of real simple times. 

On the embarrasing, strained, angry side from years gone by, which we all have, I allow Bewley to do what Bewley does best and that is to dwell on such things.  A waste of time to me!

I'm having these good thoughts presently as I write.  Don't need to make this Father's Day blog overly complicated or emotional in content.  And maybe I'm the only one who is getting anything out of this.  In that case, writing blogs is therapeutic.  This is lazy fun just mulling over some thoughts from the past about my Dad, and Daddy Bob, or even my Mom's Dad who I never knew, and others who are here no more.  I have given myself permission to think about them without emotional baggage or wrenching heartache because I'm pretty clear that I will see them again. 

Who knows, my Heavenly address from him may be just down the gold paved street?

 Or not. 

We'll see.  I'm comfortable either way.  I'm cool with however God has all this lined up   And as I write this Father's Day remembrance, I say thank you Dad for all you were to me. 

I miss you as is normal. 

I love you as I should. 

But you left before I knew the name of that friend who floated down the Ohio River with you.

Ahh.  You'll tell me one day.  Soon and very soon.

Sonny boy,