Last Sunday, thinking it was Father’s Day, I wrote a few lines about my father that I posted along with the photo on the left. In a blink I was scolded: not only wasn’t it Father’s Day, but the baby in the photo wasn’t even me (not that I’d said it was). So: a) since today is actually officially certifiably Father’s Day, am posting again, and b) I’ve added a second photo, this one of my mother, father, brother Ted and what probably is me though who can be sure since all 4 of my siblings and I looked alike as small babies. Decide for yourself. Differences emerged as we got a little older: different hair color and texture, dispositions, personalities, our dissimilarities multiplying geometrically. But, very early on, you could have shuffled us like a deck of cards.

My father taught me how to ride a bike, how to cross the street looking right, left, right and running like hell, how not to be afraid of the dark by explaining that the dark is friendly. Yes, friendly. And he was right. It is friendly, has surrounded and soothed me at times like soft black Sable might. A mentor of mine (who happens to have the same birth date as my father, December 7) has lately been trying to convince me that the future is friendly. Might he be right like my father was? Might so much evidence to the contrary be distracting me…