He was a really handsome kid! At Manhattan High, he sang in Pops Choir, acted in musicals, ran cross-country, played the clarinet, crashed the family car into a tree, and was a wonderful, complicated guy.
My papa sang James Taylor to me in the sandbox under the moon, helped me clean up after my rabbit, and wore sunglasses at night. No one is better at cooking an egg, and he looks darn good in those cook's whites. On more than a handful of occasions, he let his only daughter blow her snotty nose on his shirt. Let me restate: HE LOVES ME SO MUCH THAT HE LET ME BLOW MY NOSE ON HIS CLOTHING. THAT HE WAS WEARING. ON HIS BODY. He told me bible stories when I was a kid without me ever knowing they were bible stories. He made sure The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe was my first chapter book. He read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with me, out loud, when I was in the 5th grade. Now, in the 21st century, he sends me daily text messages that are quotes from Doctor Who.
He has suffered more than his share of pain. He has taught me a lot about grace, and love, and working hard to become your best self. He is not afraid to be incredibly honest. He is not afraid to cry.
If you see him, ask him to tell you a story, or play you a song on his guitar, or make you a mixed tape, or, if you're really, really lucky, he might draw you a picture:
Pops/Papa/Jebbie/Brotherjeb/John Eldon Bolan II:
You are such an amazing dad.
Love, love, and more love,
Blakester
P.S. I love to tell stories about you, but not as much as I love it when you tell me stories.
1 comment:
A zillion years ago, before you were considered, I met your dad ... we dated a few times off and on but the timing was never quite right for us to form a partnership. We did, though, form a friendship that has lived hard and strong and true since then ... maybe 1977? You are a lucky girl to call him your dad.
Post a Comment