My intentions of the West Fork Blues were not to write about my feelings, family, and personal life, but it has been an emotional weekend. On Friday, we learned of an unexpected death, a life cut short 58 years young. He was not from my family or yours, but we spent so much time listening to him and his work that it would be difficult not to think of him and his family as one of our own. He practically had a place at our dinner table every election night and every Sunday morning. Because of this he deserves a mention here, even if not by name.
Unless you have experienced the death of a parent or a loved one, you can’t appreciate how traumatic an experience it is. I know I can’t. People of my generation do not have as many examples of death and historical significance to draw from; events where we can say, “Do you remember what you were doing when you learned (insert name) died?” The bombing of Pearl Harbor, the assassination of JFK, the death of MLK, when John’s brother Bobby was gunned down, when John Lenin’s life was cut short: these are not events we lived through. I can only claim September 11th.
As we age, our emotions change. Mine have. Some of the piss and vinegar of youth, has given way to acceptance and feelings of sentiment. Our view of death evolves. This man’s death reminded me of this. I don’t fear death, but it has never been so close. Having a child mellows you. You realize you are responsible for more than just yourself. A friend told me today that you can’t consider yourself a parent until you’ve had a second child. I don’t know if I agree with his definition, but after becoming a parent and the fact that my folks raised three, I respect and appreciate my own exponentially more.
So, on a day established to give thanks to fathers, I say, “Thank you” to my dad, to priests and pastors, to mentors of youth, to anyone who plays a father-like roll in the shaping of young lives. Thank you for undertaking such a great responsibility. And thank you for listening to my ramblings.
Happy Father's Day!
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