Sunday, June 17, 2012

Father's Day

Today is the first Father's Day since my dad passed last November.  Dad never made a big deal about Father's Day, but I realize in retrospect it's because he did a lot of sacrificing for his family.  I get it now.  My kids look at me like I'm crazy when I say I don't want anything for Father's Day or Christmas, but I honestly don't.  I get just as much or more happiness from seeing them get things they enjoy.

The reality and gravity of the occasion really struck me harder yesterday than it has today. I was listening to a CD that was recorded by the select choir at the high school where I help out with the show choir program and it just started up the waterworks. Music does that to me above anything else and especially because my dad loved attending the choral concerts of both his kids and grandkids.

This song in particular by current American composer Eric Whitacre impacted me. His use of tight dissonant chords just seems to grab me by the soul and shake emotion out of me:

Note: This recording was another of his internet experiments where he has people from all around the globe record their one part and submit them.  They're then edited together to form a virtual choir.

I was also especially touched today by the post made by Otis/Brad on his stunningly well written blog over at Rapid Eye Reality. If you're not a regular reader of his, you should be.


  1. It gets better. Down the road the good memories clearly overtake the sad thoughts. A few tears are always good, however, to make you remember what is really important in life

  2. I agree with Lightning. It's been over 15years since my Mom passed away. I have nothing but good memories left. Days like this still never lose all their sting.

  3. Somehow I did not have you on my feed list! It's funny my dad has been gone for like 4-5 years and only recently am I even feeling it consciously.. probably in part as I release the mistakes I make with my kids and give my dad a little pass for his. Interesting how that shit works.