Here is the continuation of yesterday’s post given from my dad’s point of view.
It’s quite a contrast as you’ll soon see.
If you have not seen the previous post, please take a look so you’ll have the right context! No worries. I’ll wait for you to return.
Yesterday I shared I was at my parent’s house scanning family photos; they would occasionally reactd differently to the same photo.
My mother saw a picture of herself as a young child and thought of Shirley Temple.
When my father saw this picture he immediately said,
“She was a phantom of delight.”
I said, “Excuse me?”
He replied, “She was a ‘phantom of delight.’ It’s a poem by William Wordsworth. Every time I see this picture I think of this poem…”
I smiled as he walked away, the words from the poem playing in his mind.
I said, “Thanks, Dad…I’ll remember that.”
I’ve been recalling this scene over and over in my mind.
I finally sat down and looked up the poem.
I recalled that my dad loved poetry and classics.
As I thought more about it, I recognized that my father is the person who instilled a love a reading in me.
For bedtime stories my father didn’t generally read fairy tales to me.
He read Bullfinch’s Mythology! The great mythic stories captured my imagination.
As I got older he also read poetry from the book One Hundred and One Famous Poems.
I could perfectly understand how my mom would capture his imagination in poetry.
I thought about my father as a younger man.
I wondered how old my mother was when she first showed him this picture.
By simply looking over my shoulder and making a quick comment my dad allowed me to see a side of him that he often kept private.
…as I said, quite a contrast from my mom…
…and I am really content to be aware of the difference…