My unsentimental father hated this kind of music. He liked the good ole country music, Hank Williams and the like, although he called it Pissin' In your Beer music.
Dad always liked jazz and swing because he liked it when people didn't open their fool mouths.
Going through Dad's things, I realize that he really did love this sentimental, queer son that was his polar opposite. I wish I'd truly realized it when he was alive. I vacillate between being mad at myself for not seeing it and being mad at him for not being able to say it.
I keep telling myself that there's no fault. He was who he was, I am who I am. And fate/God/the Universe saw fit to put us together.
If I were to describe my father's presence as a light in my life, I'd describe him as a camper's flashlight. Plain, no frills, and will be there when you really need. Don't pester him for namby pamby crap like parties, and don't expect him to stay lit in your art studio. But if you're in the woods late at night, he'll help you find your way.
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