Dear Dad

Sorry I missed writing to you on Father’s Day, but I did begin a letter and certainly thought of you. 18 years gone, but always my father. And I’m grateful for that. You provided the needed food, shelter and safety,  got me started playing the organ and then piano, let me play your great collection of records—Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, Debussy and beyond, filled the house with good books and your own paintings, paid for private high school and then college, never said the “n” word as many of my friends’ fathers did, spared me the shackles of organized religion, introduced me to Crostic puzzles and Solitaire and in your own way, let me find my own way in turbulent times—long hair, hitchhiking, political protest, Zen practice— with a caring measure of acceptance and no judgement about refusing the good ole American way. Though never outwardly effusive in your love, I knew it was there and certainly in our later years, you found your way to let me know. Likewise moving from perhaps reluctant acceptance to genuine pride in who I had become and what I did and how I did it. And I think you know how I moved from the typical struggles between fathers and sons, the critiques of what you didn’t give me to the deep appreciations of what you did. At the end, there were no unspoken words that needed to be said.

 

In one of your letters I unearthed recently, you wrote “This is a lousy world” and you lived in a time when that was accepted as just the way things are and nothing you can do to change it. But somehow, some foundation of my childhood convinced me that everything could be changed. I could work on myself through meditation, music, reading and more, I could change little parts of the world like trying to transform music education to something more joyous, more musical, more community-bonding. I could join others trying to change big parts of the world by standing up against injustice, war, greed, racism, sexism, tyranny and speaking up for more kindness, fairness and inclusion. Often, but not always, with some deep optimistic conviction that we are moving, however tiny the steps, towards the world as it could and should be. 

 

But in the past week, events in the United States, Turkey, Colombia, Iran, Palestine (as always) make me wonder if you’re right. This is a fuckin’ lousy world! And yes, I was uplifted by the massive protests, but this morning, even though the sun shines in Salzburg and the distant mountains and nearby park offer solace, I’m feeling the darkness spread over me. Hasn’t happened often lately, but here it is. So in this simple act of writing to you and thanking you yet again for both the gift of life and the gift of loving life, I hope you’ll take my hand and walk me back into the light. Let’s go.

 

Your always loving son,

 

Doug