LAND OF OUR FATHERS?

LAND OF OUR FATHERS?

Today is, in the UK anyway, Father’s Day.   Although many people deplore the commercialisation of such days (are we to have Second Daughter’s Day;  Third Wife of Uncle’s Day?) – on the other hand it does no harm at all to take a little time to reflect on what is surely a significant role in anyone’s life.

 Struggling with a mounting crisis recently, in my efforts to bolster my psychological and mental strength, in that metaphorical cry for help one makes in the small  hours in dead of night when there’s only you and the darkness, I summoned as my second last appeal for assistance, the spirits of our ancestors, specifically our fathers.    I thought, why am I calling on our fathers, and not on our mothers?       Then I thought, when you’re a child and you’re in a dangerous situation;  when you’re a teenager on your gap year in a tight spot, who do you want to appear at the school gate or at your hostel door, metaphorically riding in on his white horse in all his battle gear with his flags flying – it’s your father (and in due course, your partner in life.)

 But your father, once he’s fought off the dragons and snatched you to safety – well, that’s as far as heroes go, isn’t it?  By the time he’s carried you on his milk white steed back to the castle – well, by that time he’s wondering what somebody might have prepared for his dinner, or whether his roses need dead-heading, or whether Rory McIlroy will win the American Golf Open.      He’s done his bit.   He deposits you proudly in the care of your mother, (or whoever stands in for her) and then he goes off about his manly business.    She then has months or weeks of nursing, counselling, feeding, encouraging to get you back ready to face the world (and she doesn’t have the glory of the rescue.)

 And of course for some women, no man comes to the rescue, and these sisters have to do it for themselves.    We women who have had the privilege of being protected by men should bow low before these valiant ladies.

 But it’s Father’s Day.   What is a more glorious sight than a man in all his strength and beauty as he comes to meet you in the hopeful light of dawn?

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About adhocannie
I am a good natured woman with a long memory and a swift tongue. I like loooking at things and thinking about them. Also food, clothes, travel, reading, sewing. I try to see the ridiculous in things, but sobriety of reflection keeps edgting in. I have husband, children, grandchildren, friends... I feel rich in things that matter. I am a happy exile. I like writing. I do not like talking about me (though I do.). You willl be much more interesting.

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