Bright And Early

A Story About What It Means To "Go Do That"

Photo by Birgitta Roos on Unsplash

The air is crisp with winter, the sky is blue, and the sharpness from sunrise retains its edge. It’s early January and we’re miles and miles from Spring. If only I could share this quiet and content with everyone willing to trade half of everything for just five minutes of peace. A feeling of being bright and early.

I’m thinking about Dad right now.

You see, it’s been five years to the day since he left us, and set me on my way with something new, even if I didn’t know it at the time. January Twelve is when everything begins again, during these last few years.

This morning, I remembered a moment from a long time ago. It was the first time it happened but it wouldn’t be the last. It happens still.

I was in the hallway of a school. A giant of a man, a teacher, saw me and made remarks, triggering raucous laughter from those around him, that wouldn’t have passed muster in today’s spring-loaded minefields of social discourse. I was young, very young, and small, very small, but something, bigger than the giant in the hallway and the hallway, took over me.

All I remember, because it was so odd a feeling, was a flash of anger followed by calm. Inside my little gut, was this feeling, “It just not worth it”. It wasn’t fear, it wasn’t resignation. Inside my young mind, I shook my head.

I was with a friend, a classmate, a tiny girl who was still taller than even tinier me. I looked at the giant and said nothing, I turned and walked away, with my friend walking beside me. That wasn’t just me making my legs move. Something was in my head, and in my heart, at that moment. It was a voice, this “thing”, from Dad. I was six years old.

Something had awakened in my mind, and it’s there still.

Years later, and over the years, these moments of this “thing” from Dad resurfaced. Different versions would happen. Make the hard promise and keep it. Say the thing because you mean it. Do the thing that must be done, even if not a single soul ever knew, because it was the right thing to be done (or despite if all knew and some inevitable “acktually” and worse followed).

The only regrets and shame in my life were when this “thing” was ignored, suppressed, discounted, or worst of all, betrayed. Some of my greatest joys and moments of pride followed when I listened and followed through.

Right now the “thing” says speak to you.

Dad’s last gift, his most everlasting gift to me, on top of life itself, was something inside me that says, “go do that”.

When I was going through some of Dad’s things, I found a rolled up, fragile, falling apart in my hands scrap of paper. Only it wasn’t just that. It was a charcoal sketch. Dad, at a very early stage of his life, very young, was an artist. He never spoke of it or of his early days much. He kept this paper. I keep it in a box, off to the side. I’m keeping it for as long as I can. It was proof of a voice that spoke inside him, something that stayed with him all his life.

You know about “go do that” better than me, and you know it’s hard at times.

Many of you are credentialed, licensed, certified, bestowed, or self-made with an occupation or an avocation. Inside, you do what you have to do, to get by, make a living, support yourself - and others - paying the rent or mortgage, feeding the kids, looking after all your loved ones, young and old. You’re making life work as best as you can for as long as you can.

Bravo to you, I mean it.

I’ve let this run on too long.

I’m reintroducing myself to you. Many of you are new or are here by accident. That’s okay, maybe I get this one shot to tell you that you can “go do that”.

Me? I’m writing, and I don’t mean just posts. After Dad was laid to rest, I began to write what became trilogy of novels. The “thing” tells me that I’m writing for people yet to be born, perhaps long after I’m gone.

After we came home from Dad’s resting place, the “thing” said, “go do that”, write, but I didn’t quite understand. I began that night. I started small and simple, then it began to take on its own life. Later, I was fortunate to meet and make friends who are helping me bring it to life. I owe them so much for that, and I don’t mean money but something far more profound.

A housekeeping notice follows.

From now on, in future messages to you, I’m going to share what I write with short email “heads up” and then a link of the piece. I’ll give you a gist and then you decide to click, read or not, stay or leave, you are always in charge of that.

I’m in charge of what matters to me: choosing to “go do that”. That’s mine.

It’s not about “optimizing” and those games, it’s about options and choosing.

I think sending you links is better, because sometimes the pieces are long, and your time is short. Longer pieces are where I’m wandering along a dusty trail of the imagination, exploring on a walkabout of words, trying to figure something out. Here’s a longish piece as an example, “Our Imagination Is A Camera Of The Mind”. You don’t have to read it but now you see what I mean.

Here’s some links I wanted to share, I really think they’re worth your time:

One of Dad’s favorite movies was “The Godfather”. Years later, I saw this drama of the “story inside the story”, the making of the film, “The Offer”. There were so many lessons in it about listening to “go do that”.

This is a short list of books that Dad bought for me, one Christmas, when I was young. I had no idea that this would set things in motion in my mind.

This story inside the story of my Dad, “The Days Dad Started Over”.

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Please accept my wishes to all of you and yours for a wonderful year ahead. You can “go do that”, you really can. It’s bright and early and the days grow longer.

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