And what, if anything did you learn? Was it patience, or maybe the final reaffirmation that your brother-in-law really is a small minded, knuckle dragging bone head. Possibly you finally figured out how to get the gravy right. I actually discovered that a gin and tonic, with a large wedge of lime tastes pretty damn good with a splash of bitters. This trick I learned from my brother Larry who claims it was one of Ernest Hemingway’s favorite cocktails. I made a weak and unsuccessful attempt to disabuse him of that claim. While in Cuba last April I was told it was the mojito that blossomed with a bitters blast. Nonetheless, he stood his ground. It makes no difference. I love my brother, and right or wrong, he bought the 1.5 litre of very excellent gin that we liquidated over four nights. Needless to say, while  the N1H1, or Swine flu may strike, we have no fear about malaria as the ample quinine and juniper berries flowing through our system will suitably defend us. 

But the discovery of g & t bitters enhancement pales to the one I made about my dad who died on Thanksgiving Day eleven years ago, a day that was also our 21st wedding anniversary, an emotional trifecta of a day to be sure. I learned that he was a writer of fiction, a fact that after sixty years of being on this planet, forty-nine with him, I knew zilch about. I asked my mom why I never knew this, especially since I have been trying to evolve as a writer since I could hold a crayon. “I just forgot,” she said.

My brother looked over, “Well Bill, I guess this is where you get it,” then, “and your boys.”

To understand the impact on me regarding all of this it might help to know that my dad, Guindle Fair Hamby, was a guy of a certain generation that talked but didn’t really communicate, kept his personal stuff to himself, and at least from my view as a kid, had not a creative thought in his head. I viewed him as a disciplinarian, strict, all business, not a glimmer of an artist or craftsman. A lifer as a General Electric midddle manager, he always encouraged education and pushed us hard to learn, but as my brother and I pursued music and film and television and writing in college, he never copped to the fact that he secretly had similar interests. I know he was proud. I just don’t think he knew how to say it, or how to explain himself to us.

But in his papers were short stories, letters to literary agents, and most striking, letters FROM agents. The last letter from New York encouraged him to make some structural changes and return his story. That was dated two months after I was born. So I asked myself silently, wow, was I the reason he quit chasing his writing dream? Then out loud I said, “Mom, I think I was the reason he quit writing.”  She said, “Absolutely not!”

But I’m not so sure. The demands of life can be greedy and soul sucking to someone dreaming dreams. I hope it wasn’t me, sapping his writing and creativity. I know he loved me and I hope he wasn’t bitter.

Comments (3)

1. 

   Jim

   My brother Bill is always too hard on himself… If your Dad dreamed of being a writer, then he fulfilled it! And you found out that he did, and received a gift of affirmation! You didn’t say he dreamed of being “published,” did you? Hell, anyone can do that. You and your boys are his published legacy. Now, pass the gin, and Happy Thanksgiving! [Reply]

2. 

   michael

   “The act of writing requires a constant plunging back into the shadow of the past where time hovers ghostlike.” Ralph Ellison said that, and I cannot think of truer words. When we write, all we do is look back. What we see are the lines we trace when our eyes look there. Granddaddy is your line, my line. His eyes, your eyes, mine. The world moves, our eyes turn with it. We wake up to a new day after an old one is done. This is why our work is never done. This is why the lines I see are traced with a pen…. [Reply]

3. 

   Rickie

   Oh, my dear Phil. After my dad died in May, I found a passage he had written in a book of poetry to my mother when they were in their mid-20’s. What a discovery that he embraced poetry, this fella who made his way through life as a salesman. All we can do is thank those guys from the Greatest Generation for putting us here, and allowing us to grow up to have the best taste in friends. Now, knock it off! [Reply]

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