Dreams of my father

January 8th, 2009

I’ve been thinking about my father a lot lately; I’ve been writing some things that call him to mind. It’s probably more accurate to say that he’s been on my mind and thus I’ve been writing about him. His birthday is approaching – he would be seventy-eight – and the birthday of my son who sometimes resembles him so. Soon will come the anniversary on which my time without him equals my time with him. It’s a startling thought, even after all these years: I have been fatherless nearly half my life.

And yet he is sometimes so near, his outline so sharp, it’s as if I could hold his hand. He is like the mountains I see almost every day as I walk into the heart of the city, run my errands, take the boys for a walk. Only the cloudiest days obscure them, and on a clear day they seem to come closer; on those story-book days when the sky is sharp and blue it seems as if I could just walk to them. Under a blue sky the Eiger doesn’t seem all that imposing. But the truth is, the north face of the Eiger is one of the most challenging and dangerous climbs in mountaineering and my father is at the top of it. And I am at the bottom. And the distance between us cannot be traversed.

Trackback URI | Comments RSS

Leave a Reply

Name (required)

Email (required)


Speak your mind