My Line


My grandfather had one son.  My father had one son.  I have one son.  Our line is just that—a line.  We are not a band of brothers having sons and building an oak-like family tree.  We are a line.  Our fathers become the brothers we never had; we become the brothers our sons will never know.  There are some wonderful things about brothers, I am sure.  But there is something unique and honorable about passing everything you have, everything you are, everything you know, and everything you believe from one generation to another through a single soul.

The other day my daughter caught my son doing something uniquely me.  “Oh my God, you’re just like dad!” she said in mock disgust.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.  “But I’m starting to understand how cool that really is.”

He really is just like me.  And I am just like my dad.  I imagine my dad is just like his father before him, although I never knew my grandfather.

I read the other day that the ancients were no less intelligent than we are today , they just lacked to tools and equipment to accomplish the feats we have today.  That might be true.  But I am confident that the personalities of those long gone were very much the same as ours… jokesters, planners, story tellers, artists, musicians,  nurturers, protectors, educators, friends…. fathers.

My father ran.  I cycle.  My father canoed.  I kayak.  My father carved.  I draw.  My father played harmonica.  I play guitar.  Very similar talents and interests…  (My father can’t sing.  Neither can I…)

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