Fearful Symmetries

Witness a machine turn coffee into pointless ramblings...

28 March, 2004

De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum

I've been trying to construct an entry in my head about my father but nothing seems right. Would I write an encomium or a philippic? I don't know. It feels like I've come to terms with his death but I have not yet...integrated it into my being. Seeing those pictures he took of himself last week, my brain doesn't use the past tense, it still uses the present. As if I could call him up and give him shit for looking like a goofball.

I remember when my father's father died - I was about 12 at the time. For me, it wasn't a big deal as I'd never met the guy nor even seen a picture of him. My dad hated his father, Calvin, so, after my mom's dad passed when I was 5, the concept of a grandfather was pretty foreign to me. The only contact I ever had with Calvin was a card containing money at Xmas. My never spoke of him in front of me and he was very matter-of-fact about his death. I recall no mourning of any kind - it was just another cold, heartless fact without a context. And, from what I recall, he was the same way when his mother died. Just this stoic indifference. On the drive down here, I was hoping to find things relating to my grandparents. Just something - anything - about them. I found 1 or 2 pictures with my grandmother but absolutely nothing concerning my grandfather. My dad gave me a picture of him a couple years ago and it hangs on my bedroom wall at home. But I guess that was it. Two pictures of an aunt but none of his father.

It irritates me a bit. I mean, my uncle probably has some, but I'm the curious type and my selfish side feels like my father let his hatred overcome any sense of letting his children in on their past, their heritage. When I talk to Gene, my uncle, again, I'll have to ask him some questions.

If I ever find a woman crazy enough to bear my children, what can I tell them and give them to understand their father's heritage? Kelly wanted that meat grinder because it was her grandmother's and her family would make Swedish sausage when everyone was together. I can understand her wanting it. It's a symbol of something. She used it, she watched her family use it - it makes sense to me. But, never having had much contact with most of my grandparents, there are no objects like that which have meaning to me in that way. Nothing shared that would give a sense of connection.

Well, dealing with my kids is a bridge I'll have to cross if/when I come to it. At the moment, I really just wanna get back home and be with friends. I can unpack too and put some of my newly-acquired things in my room to provoke memories, to give a hint at where I came from.
|| Palmer, 10:37 AM

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