Post #190

June 16, 2017

Sunday Sunshine –

Celebrating Father’s Day

Sunday Sunshine–

Celebrating Father’s Day

William Joseph and Esther Kirker McKinney. 1943

Holding their first baby – Lynda Jeanne McKinney.

In Memory of William Joseph McKinney (1916-1988)

In Memory of Esther Luella Kirker McKinney (1920 – 2007)

From your  Daughter, Lynda

How do you celebrate Father’s Day in your family?

What special things do you do to honor or memorialize your Father?

Father’s Day can be overwhelming

to those who have lost their Father.

As an Artist —

My Father lives in the paintings I created.

I honored my father by painting 2 pictures of him.

The strange thing about them is that in both paintings my father is standing and looking out towards something in the distance in a landscape. The pictures are not traditional portraits. They are not posed. You never really see his face, but you feel his presence. He is watching…something. You see him from behind. You are watching my father, as he is gazing off into his private thoughts, alone in his world. It feels like you are a voyeur, standing at a distance behind him. Yet,  you are keeping an eye on someone who is not aware of your presence.

I was born in August 1943. Two weeks after my birth, my father was drafted into the Army. It was World War II. He had to leave his wife and baby daughter. He was sent to fight the Nazis in Europe; he would not see me again until after my 2^nd birthday.  Perhaps, when I painted him, I was feeling the distance between Father and Baby Daughter.  Something I carry inside of me my entire life.

As a Writer—

I create pictures of my father using words.

A sensitive reader can see him through my eyes, as I speak about him. My Father enters into my world of memories and personal, unspoken thoughts in a number of poems, stories, and journal notations.

My Father lives on in the pages of my first book

Concerti: Psalms for the Pilgrimage (Kota Press, 2003)

This is a full-length book of poems, stories, journal entries, and historical notes.

My Father is there, among the pages of my book.

My father lives on every time a reader begins to read my stories.

Journal Entry, July 8, 1999 (Concerti: Psalms f\or the Pilgrimage, p. 20)

We hold up our umbrellas and weep together for joy

In the presence of Austria. Have we come home at last?

 

I begin to draw once again. Draw for my life.

Draw to create a memory to stay with me

When long winter days try to make me forget Summer, and Austria.

 

But for now, begin to make a list – things that will be

The beginnings of a poem – many poems.

 

We remember today that we have lost our fathers and

The orange fields remind us of our loss. I will return

Alone after dark and close the rose curtains. (Walking by Inner Vision, p.20)

__________

I wrote several  short poems after Dad’s  sudden death on Saturday morning, July 16, 1988

Sometimes we are unable to describe an even so tragic that we have no words.  I wrote several short poems about my Father’s death. Each poem is a tiny fragment. At such times when we have suffered a tremendous loss, we see the world in small fragments. The entire picture is too hard for us to speak about. We are left with a shred at times like this.

Saturday Morning.

My Father gave me

a poem.

Mother wept.

__________

My father lives forever inside the pages of my 2^nd book,

Walking by Inner Vision: Stories & Poems  (DLD Books, 2017)

“William’s Red Roses” (p. 45)

tells the story of a special gift Dad  gave me when I was a young mother. This gift comes back to open up memories for me many years later. I think you will fall in love my father as you read this story.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I will love you for all eternity.

____________________

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