1/4/2013: Ekphrasis

My father was the kind of man who could liven up any situation. I cannot do him justice in the department of wit, charm, or comedic timing, but unfortunately he isn’t here today to make up for the lack of entertainment. My first memory of my dad was when we were moving from the house on Breckendale to the one we still live in today. I had no clue what was going on at the time; I could tell was that everyone was taking my stuff and putting it into boxes, and I just assumed it was going away for good. When I expressed my concerns to my father, he quietly assured me that that my belongings were indeed being sent off to a group of angry giant robots who were going to attack the earth if they were not given the sacrifice of a small boy’s toys. I know in the retelling of this story it kind of makes my dad look like a terrible person, and although he did have his moments of quirkiness, he always bounced back. After he saw how visibly upset I was, thrust into the role of earth’s savior by way of my GI Joe collection, he reopened every packed box and told me the robots had a change of programming and now were only interested in the rest of our house’s belongings. I was selfish enough at the time to be satisfied with that knowledge. I’m not sure how he accomplished moving all my things from my room to the new house and setting them up all in one night, but he did it, and I didn’t even notice until he was through. He was a proud dad. Proud to the point of irritation. Any time my sister or I came home with a good report card or project he would not only post it on the fridge, but make up a whole song and dance number about it and take us out for pizza later. He would build our talents up to family and friends so large that I was always terrified I would not live up to them and come out a huge disappointment. I swear there were some macaroni portraits I brought home that he immediately took away to research for an entire ekphrasis and official submission for the piece. He was a great man. He wasn’t a man of great intellect, nor a man of great fame or fortune, but a great man to everybody he encountered. He didn’t have much, but what he had he gave until hurt. I know that I don’t have to stand here and tell everyone about my father, everyone here knew him on a very personal level because there was no other way to know a guy like him. We will not only remember him today, but every day, in the lives we continue to live that were touched and vastly improved upon by knowing him, thank you.


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Filed under English, Fiction, Literature, Uncategorized, Writing

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