Christian Brando Dies a Cursed Life
Christian Brando is dead. Was he killed by his life — or by the sins of his dead father, Marlon Brando?
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The Decider: When a Father Fails a Son
There is no greater crushing experience — or necessary duty — than when a father must tell a son he is not good enough; he does not measure up; he is not the man he was born to be:
FATHER: I know you tried, but you did not make the football team.
SON: But Dad! I went to every practice! I did my best! I did everything you and the coach asked.
FATHER: Yes, you did everything you could but it wasn’t enough, son. There are other boys who play ball better than you. You just don’t have the talent. I’m sorry.
SON: You lied to me! You told me I could do anything I wanted if I only tried!
FATHER: You just aren’t good enough to play football but that doesn’t mean we can’t try something else.
A Day for Fathers
Today, at least in the United States, we celebrate Father’s Day, a day to honor every father for being just that – a father. On this occasion, I would like to write a little something about my own father, and what a tremendous impact he has had on my life, perhaps without fully realizing it.
Quality Time
Looking back on the last twenty-five or so years, or at least what I can remember of them (I am about to turn twenty-six, quite a scary number for a person who became an “adult” thirteen years ago, as it were) some of my happiest memories involve my father. This ranges from the variety of memory of us actively doing things, simply spending time together watching television or a film, and even some of the many conversations that we’ve had over the years.
Two of my favorite sub-categories of the “doing things” category would definitely be “going grocery shopping” and “going to garage sales.” Every Sunday, for a long time during my childhood, my father would go to the supermarket and I would go along to help him. It thusly came as a surprise to me when I heard that in most households the mother was the one who did the shopping for food. It seemed beyond comprehension. I suppose to a certain extent, what one experiences in ones own life, prior to seeing “outside” examples, seem the “standard” and normal as it were. My father was (and still is) a huge fan of clipping coupons. It is from here that I grew fond of the art of buying food in larger quantities when on sale, and watching for trends in price.
This also came through in our other wonderful “doing things” sub-category, that of going to garage sales. This also was largely done when I was younger, though we still do it once in a blue moon on a rare Sunday when I am in New Jersey and we see a sign for a garage sale on the street. What would happen during Garage Sale season (from the early spring until the mid to late fall, when the weather permitted it of course) we would go to about a dozen garage sales every weekend and find lots of really nice things for not much money. Numerous lessons on careful spending habits were learned here, not that I always find myself applying them, of course. I don’t think I would be such a big fan of half.com if it weren’t for going to garage sales with my father.
For My Father
by Noemi Szadeczky-Kardoss
Dad!
For the first time in my life, I don’t know which way to go.
When I was little, it was easy. I just had to follow the arrows, and they lead me to you. You drew them on the sidewalks with white chalk so that I would find my way from the playground to your workplace. Do you remember? You used to let me play as long as I wanted, but you never stayed with me. The work couldn’t wait, you used to say. But before you left, you always made sure the arrows were still visible on the sidewalks. If the rain had washed them away, you drew them again.
A Daughter's Love is a Terrible Thing to Waste
by Malaika Booker-Wright
I have half of this man’s genes. His blood runs through my veins. I have his nose. I have his lips. I have his hair. I have his “worry lines.” Yet, I only have a handful of memories involving him.
Continue reading → A Daughter's Love is a Terrible Thing to Waste
Childhood Never Changes on the Beach
by Nancy McDaniel
For some reason, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about my father lately. My dad and I were very close. I was an only child and my mom died when I was 16, so Daddy and I spent a lot of time together. He died about 12 years ago. I don’t think about him every day, but I’ve thought of him a lot lately.
Beach Philosopher
by Nancy McDaniel
When I walk down the streets of Chicago by myself, it never enters my mind to wonder about the things I see. Why, for example, are people standing on the corner? That’s easy; they are waiting for a bus. Why are those people frowning? Simple, because they’re unhappy or stressed. When I walk along the beach in Florida, all sorts of questions, most without answers, go through my mind. Is it because I revert back to a childhood full of beach walks? Or am I just bored with too much time on my hands? Either way, on the beach, I become a philosopher of sorts.
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