Dad on a cow ... 1930
1924- 1992
I miss him most days.
Here’s something I wrote for his funeral:
I’ve known, I think since birth,
that my father knew everything.
Not that he cluttered his mind with sports scores
or directions to places he didn’t go often.To the contrary, he knew only the most vital of bits
and these he shared with me generously:
how to load and use a rifle safely,
proper application of a semicolon,
operation of a motor vehicle in a drive-in parking lot,
the ability to identify seven different breeds of cattle,
the definition of the lyrics of Waltzing Matilda,
self-reliance,
an appreciation of the world’s great literature (and the KIngston Trio),
how to use my mind,
to turn in a badly dealt hand and demand new cards,
a sense of history,
HIS history,
how to properly cook a turkey, a white sauce and French pancakes,
how to swear well and effectively,
the paths of the constellations,
a connection a with the earth and with time,
the merits of good sense and honesty,
and so much more.I am, I think, one-fourth him, one-fourth my mother and half what I have accumulated on my own.
The divisions are not apparent.He has said he fathered recklessly.
His recklessness is only one aspect of the man.
I love them all
and all of him.
He’s my dad.
The part of me that writes is a gift from him …
A Song of a Chela
I began to be when time began
And the Wheel of All began to spin
I am one the the One that has always beenI have lived my way through the seven worlds,
Coming, going, returning again,
In shapes and forms man cannot know
And in all that this world has seen come and go:
In the bodies of things in the slippery muck
And slime of the sea and the swamp,
In reptilian things with leather wings,
In sharp toothed, heavy limbed, truculent,
Dim brained beasts of the steamy lands
Before the Wheel had turned to man.I have lived in trees and caves and castles,
An eater of berries, a killer of mammoth,
Slave and prophet, poet and king,
Harlot and hunter and priestess and warrior –
Whatever the Wheel in turning might bring.I helped in creating Jehovah and Allah,
Brahma and Baal and those of Olympus;
I served in their temples and bled on their alters,
Tortured their martyrs and died in their names.I have helped in the building of civilizations
And fought in the wars that returned them to dust.
I have learned all the wisdoms and done all the labors
And seen all the beauties and known all the lust.I shall still be when time shall end
And the Wheel of All shall begin again;
I am one with the One that will never end.~Amos Hanks, 1947
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 
Beautiful it must have been something to know your father it fills me with awe, it must have been wonderful to learn lifes values at the hands of such a man, of my father (I use the word father because he did my mother assures me partisipate in the physical act of impregnation.) I can say only this, he hurt my sibblings, and my mother, so i hope you dont mind if I borrow your dad just for the sake of FATHERS DAY.
Muah
I’m happy to share memories of my dad with all, Audie …
A truly beautiful tribute to your father, Sandra. I hardly remember mine, although I have photos.
Beautiful Sandra. My dad taught me very little. Actually Jim taught me many of the things that a dad should of taught me however mine was a good man in later years and I miss him so much. You were very lucky but you know that. I was lucky that my dad and I came together before it was to late. Love you.
We all get what we get, and mine was certainly far from Ward Clever!
Love you, too, Robbie, as you well know …
Wow, wonderful tribute! Fathers are a total mystery, although the fellow married to me did turn out to be a good father, a happy coincidence. Pictures of my Dad are intriguing, but leave no frame of reference for voice or mannerisms.
Most young people – barring fertility issues – do become parents recklessly, at the mercy of their hormones and developmental stages. Honestly, how many of us were the result of a planned pregnancy?
Thanks for sharing about your Dad, Sandra. It helps re-frame my perspective of the day somewhat. For the most part tho, pasting a smile on my face and struggling through both mothers day and fathers day is the best possible muster.
Very, very beautiful, Sandra. Thanks for sharing!
~smiles~
I remember your father well, Sandra. I think I met you once, too. For several years, I lived in the lower flat at 1812 San Antonio Av in Alameda where he lived with Frances. I did some tech support for him when he wrote that book — it was his first computer ~ 1985.
He later told me that feedback wasn’t so great on his book and it was “unpublishable.” But that was before the Internet.
I would be interested in reading the whole thing. I read parts of it back then and I liked it. I think others would find it interesting.
I have a hard copy, but wouldn’t part with that for the world. I miss him every day.
Thanks for contacting me. It’s good to know he’s remembered.
You could always scan it to a PDF file.