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…)
