An Archangel at Three Score and Ten
My
old man who never got old would have turned 70 today. Seventy is a big
number, that biblical three score and ten, but by today's standards,
it's barely middle aged. So my old man who never got old... would still
not be old. Somehow it is fitting that he remains forever young, yet I
cannot help but feel that he was cheated.
His senior yearbook quote, selected for him by his teachers, was "An Archangel-- A Little Damaged," which is more appropriate for my father than it was for Samuel Coleridge, to whom Charles Lamb was referring when he wrote the passage. Cooperstown has always had extraordinary teachers. They nailed that one.
While I miss him today a little more than I did yesterday and a little less than I will tomorrow, time truly does sand down those jagged edges of grief and loss, so the memories are distilled to their essence: that broad grin, that outrageous sense of humor, that driving curiosity, and the two of us, gloves on our catching hands, tossing a baseball back and forth, the pop of horsehide on leather setting its own rhythm.
He continues to teach me; I continue to learn from him. His grandchildren know him better than they could possibly know someone they've never met.
He's been gone six years longer than he was here, and I'm not much for math, but I've spent nearly 80% of my life remembering him.
Yet his influence is everywhere, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
Love you, Dad. Happy Birthday.
Adam
His senior yearbook quote, selected for him by his teachers, was "An Archangel-- A Little Damaged," which is more appropriate for my father than it was for Samuel Coleridge, to whom Charles Lamb was referring when he wrote the passage. Cooperstown has always had extraordinary teachers. They nailed that one.
While I miss him today a little more than I did yesterday and a little less than I will tomorrow, time truly does sand down those jagged edges of grief and loss, so the memories are distilled to their essence: that broad grin, that outrageous sense of humor, that driving curiosity, and the two of us, gloves on our catching hands, tossing a baseball back and forth, the pop of horsehide on leather setting its own rhythm.
He continues to teach me; I continue to learn from him. His grandchildren know him better than they could possibly know someone they've never met.
He's been gone six years longer than he was here, and I'm not much for math, but I've spent nearly 80% of my life remembering him.
Yet his influence is everywhere, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
Love you, Dad. Happy Birthday.
Adam
posted by Adam Hurtubise at 8:30 PM
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