The Art of Giving
I was once told that one should be careful that they don't give to much, lest they look in a mirror and find nothing there.
I spend so much time trying to help others, worrying about others and concentrating on them that I rarely take time to be concerned about myself. Apparently I lead by example, because so frequently, no one else seems to be either.
I have been published twice in my life. Once was in fourth grade for a publication geared toward that age, with a story involving a particularly athletic Christmas tree. It hardly counts and really doesn't need to be mentioned.
The second was in a nation wide Pagan publication about a year ago. A story that prompted the tattoo that now exists on my back. Both contain significant metaphoric and introspective meanings to me, and for once my father, the publication and I were in the same place today. I handed it to him and he read it.
I would love to tell you more, but that is it. He read it, he put it down, he went about what he was doing. No comment, no question as to what it might mean to me. No curiousity about the inspiration that resulted in the story and the artwork that was so great I wear it permanently. Nothing.
I don't know what I expected. Maybe it was just that. Maybe that was why I had never shown it to him. Perhaps that is the greatest risk that any man faces though. Bearing one's soul just to find that nobody is impressed.
Oh well. Time to put such thoughts away. After all, others need me to be strong. Others "know" I am unflappable. That's just part of my life, or something close to it.
I spend so much time trying to help others, worrying about others and concentrating on them that I rarely take time to be concerned about myself. Apparently I lead by example, because so frequently, no one else seems to be either.
I have been published twice in my life. Once was in fourth grade for a publication geared toward that age, with a story involving a particularly athletic Christmas tree. It hardly counts and really doesn't need to be mentioned.
The second was in a nation wide Pagan publication about a year ago. A story that prompted the tattoo that now exists on my back. Both contain significant metaphoric and introspective meanings to me, and for once my father, the publication and I were in the same place today. I handed it to him and he read it.
I would love to tell you more, but that is it. He read it, he put it down, he went about what he was doing. No comment, no question as to what it might mean to me. No curiousity about the inspiration that resulted in the story and the artwork that was so great I wear it permanently. Nothing.
I don't know what I expected. Maybe it was just that. Maybe that was why I had never shown it to him. Perhaps that is the greatest risk that any man faces though. Bearing one's soul just to find that nobody is impressed.
Oh well. Time to put such thoughts away. After all, others need me to be strong. Others "know" I am unflappable. That's just part of my life, or something close to it.
posted by Wanderer at 8:57 PM
3 Comments:
I love reading what you write. I love that you comment on my blog.
Please don't take Chris too seriously, I never do...
Love to all of you...Jeremiah got married Wednesday to a girl he has know for a month. Her name is Jana and she is Native American. I think it will be good!
great thoughts....I enjoyed reading some of your previous posts. Keep smiling!!!
www.beingthelight.blogspot.com
I am very moved by your writing. You have done an excellent job capturing the pain of this experience. I think published or not, your writing will be a source of great joy for your children -- how wonderful to have such a window into the soul of one's Father. Few of us ever get that chance. I'm so sorry your own Father didn't seem to see the treasure of that moment -- but as Chip pointed out, one cannot assume silence meant rejection. I hope you will always be able to communicate your heart to those you love, no matter what they do or don't do with it.
Keep writing. Thanks.
Post a Comment
<< Home