Father of Mine

A long, long time ago, back at the dawning of The Age of Bill as a writer, I wrote and published “A Letter to my Birth Mother Who I Never Knew,” or some title closely resembling that one.  It was warmly received at the time, as honest a communication as I could give to the woman who gave me life and placed me in the foster system.

I suppose, in some roundabout way, that letter was the inspiration for this new series of letters. I have thought often of the things I wish I had said to those in my life who have passed on, not in a morose, sad, regretful thoughtfulness but rather an introspective look at the way many of us humans are so damned constipated, so damned busy with minutiae, so damned overwhelmed by the trivial at the cost of the incredibly important.

Guilty as charged, your honor, and as a form of restitution I give you this series of letters/questions I wish I had written/asked while loved ones were still with me.

Father of Mine

You left so damned early, Dad. Truthfully, I was overwhelmed at first. Then I was resentful, as you would suspect, followed by gratefulness for having had you as a father for twenty years.

You were a tough sonofabitch, make no mistake about it, about what one would expect from a man who had been physically abused as a child, who had left home at fourteen during The Great Depression, who had seen enough dying at Anzio to assure him of nightmares the rest of his life.  You had a code of conduct you lived by, a code of conduct you expected me to live by, and Jesus, Dad, that was a tough code to live up to.

Still, you loved me, and that will always far outweigh the tough times.

The number one question, Dad, one I wish I had asked many times while growing up, is this: why did you and Mom adopt a blind kid when there were so many healthy children available?  Seriously, what kind of roll of the dice was that? I was blind at nine months when you saw me in the foster home.  Why in the world would you take on that kind of risk and responsibility, not knowing whether I would, in fact, ever be able to see? I’m being dead serious, Dad, there is no way I would have done it. No way in hell.  Having said all that, I need to say a long overdue thank you for rolling those dice and taking a chance on me.

Another question I always wanted to ask you is this: did you have dreams for the future, or was it what it appeared to be for you, work hard, carve out a tiny chunk of the American Dream, and eventually die?  Did you dream of traveling one day? Retiring in Florida? Owning a business? I know next to nothing about you, Dad, other than the fact you were a hard-working, tough as nails former soldier who had no patience for excuses and who would give a person the shirt off his back if it were needed.

I once thought that everyone growing up had dreams for the future; now I wonder if that was true for you and, if not, what happened to suck you dry of glorious hope?

Finally, Dad, a question I would not have been able to ask you when I was a kid, but I can now: are you proud of the man I became? I tried so hard to make you proud of me for those twenty years; admittedly, after you died, I managed to lose my focus and direction and, admittedly, I did some things I am not proud of at all, and I can just imagine your reaction had you been alive . . . Jesus H. Christ, Bill, pull your head out of your butt, strap on some balls, and be a man . . . no nonsense to the very end, Dad, a tough credo for me to live by for seventy-six years, but I’ve never forgotten it.

So, what do you say, did your son pass the muster? Am I a man you can be proud of?

I hope so, Dad. I really hope so, because making you proud of me was always my guiding star while you were alive.

“Shadows whisper through the night,
Echoes lost in fading light.
Footsteps vanish, voices call,
Did you hear them—did they fall?

Pages torn and letters burned,
Lessons taught but never learned.
If time could speak, what would it say?
Would it turn or walk away?”

Bill

Like what you are reading on my page? You can find my novels on Amazon under the name William Holland. If you want a standalone novel which will provide you with a window into the soul of mankind, try “Resurrecting Tobias.” If you like supernatural thrillers, The Shadow series is for you.

Thank you!