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“I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by the little scraps of wisdom.” ~Umberto Eco

Sunday, June 17, 2018
Father’s Day

This is my view right now.

I am sitting on the porch of the summer home my dad and mom purchased in 1956.

This tiny house and its pine tree covered property is my family’s “heart home.”

Growing up, we lived here all summer, had friends and activities, but no school. It felt like our real home.

Plus, it’s the only structure we ever owned as a family; my father was an Episcopal priest and so our house belonged to the church he pastored.

But it was a big parish, with two assistants, so he got two months off every summer.

And every summer, for 61 years, my dad’s progeny, all six of us, plus in-law’s and grandchildren and dogs of all sizes, have gathered to gaze at this view.

The world has changed mightily since then. There’s far more uncertainty in general, and much is different right here on the property: trees lost to storms, new sleeping cabins to accommodate family expansion, a larger boat house and faster boats.

But the love that built it—all of us could swing a hammer by age four and were required to do so—hasn’t altered, thank goodness.

Other large families often divvy up time at the cottage. We schedule ours so we converge en masse. For this view, which, like my love for my dad, hasn’t changed a bit.

And I can still swing a mean hammer—without missing the nail.

And, I still miss my dad.

Dad and Taffy

Some things don’t change.

So, to all the dads out there, happy Father’s Day.

Whether still with us or not, your fingerprints remain all over the homes you helped build in our hearts.

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