I hated my father’s score-settling letters the way some people hate bullfights. Having my father read them out loud to me was an exquisite torture… but I'm the son of a matador.
I love how distilled your pieces feel, Adam. I appreciate the work of harvesting and refining that must come before. Here, this matador metaphor works so well.
Thank you, Holly. These pieces here have had the benefit of time and thoughtful editing. They were first written over a decade ago and edited, if gently so, more recently. Every writer here is in the ring in one fashion or another. (I think, hope) we all recognize what this is.
We start dependent upon our father. We then idolize and seek acceptance. As we near adulthood we realize the need to find our own way. The years pass. You have kids of your own and try to do it better.
And then, one day, if you’re very lucky, your dad (hopefully still around) takes a good long look at his son, tells you he’s proud of you and that he loves you.
The way you write about your parents is so satisfying, like sitting down to a meal prepared by a Michelin-star chef but with half the pretension and twice the calories.
Thanks, Ben. This is probably the end of my writing about my parents. I was hoping to leave behind some sense/essence of them. I hope that they would have recognized themselves in these.
I saw your like on Ali Baba. I'm delighted you're appreciating these. I've collated them into one big long post if they are easier to read that way. The second one is probably my personal favorite in this set of essays probably because the subject matter is so intense. If you only read one more, maybe read that one. Thank you for taking the time to write this note.
“…his ownership of the last word, the seductive bon-bon of the putdown.”
I have read all of the Scheherazade stories you’ve offered so far. As I was reading this one , I found I was talking to myself. Hmm , definitely the son of the matador . Will he see his own abilities mirrored back at him in his dad’s letters ? Mentally composing my own theories . He will eventually don his father’s cloak. Indeed you did.
“…buttoning up my black and silver vest, admiring my steely squint in the mirror, testing my paper bulls for ferocity, waving my muleta…”
And right there at the end . I was silently adding . Cautiously waiting . After all, I’m just the reader. Who am I to try to conduct the ending I wanted to see. Similar feeling watching a great movie . Getting a bit antsy as all the strands of the plot come together for the finale , hoping it will not disappoint .
“And when he recognized the matador in his younger son, when he handed me his neatly folded red cape and his sharp pencils, well you better believe I accepted them.
So so great. Your stories are so relatable. We all have a matador in us, whether we like it or not. In the end it's simply about how we choose to use our gifts. I'm grateful for your stories. They always elicit a deep emotional response in me. A chance to reflect, and a chance to let go of what doesn't serve me anymore.
I love how distilled your pieces feel, Adam. I appreciate the work of harvesting and refining that must come before. Here, this matador metaphor works so well.
Thank you, Holly. These pieces here have had the benefit of time and thoughtful editing. They were first written over a decade ago and edited, if gently so, more recently. Every writer here is in the ring in one fashion or another. (I think, hope) we all recognize what this is.
We start dependent upon our father. We then idolize and seek acceptance. As we near adulthood we realize the need to find our own way. The years pass. You have kids of your own and try to do it better.
And then, one day, if you’re very lucky, your dad (hopefully still around) takes a good long look at his son, tells you he’s proud of you and that he loves you.
One day. 🙏
You get it right continually, Scott. Every father should bear that in mind.
☺️
I make a point of telling my sons regularly how proud I am of them. And how much I love them. Maybe it helps a bit when they have a rough day.
It does, and it will.
The way you write about your parents is so satisfying, like sitting down to a meal prepared by a Michelin-star chef but with half the pretension and twice the calories.
Thanks, Ben. This is probably the end of my writing about my parents. I was hoping to leave behind some sense/essence of them. I hope that they would have recognized themselves in these.
This is really powerful and so beautifully written.
To be seen and heard. It is everything. For your father, for you, for all of us.
Thank you, Jo for reading my work and really taking it in.
Wow. I am standing, clapping, and throwing roses.
Thank you, Alex - for your faithful support for me both in and out of the arena.
Going back to the beginning of these. Appetite whetted. Thank you!
I saw your like on Ali Baba. I'm delighted you're appreciating these. I've collated them into one big long post if they are easier to read that way. The second one is probably my personal favorite in this set of essays probably because the subject matter is so intense. If you only read one more, maybe read that one. Thank you for taking the time to write this note.
Thanks to you. Planning to keep reading these gradually, savouring. Number II is queued up!
“I may see the world through the eyes of my mother, but I write from my father’s Flamenco heart.” Huzzah and truth.
You reeled me in from the beginning.
“…his ownership of the last word, the seductive bon-bon of the putdown.”
I have read all of the Scheherazade stories you’ve offered so far. As I was reading this one , I found I was talking to myself. Hmm , definitely the son of the matador . Will he see his own abilities mirrored back at him in his dad’s letters ? Mentally composing my own theories . He will eventually don his father’s cloak. Indeed you did.
“…buttoning up my black and silver vest, admiring my steely squint in the mirror, testing my paper bulls for ferocity, waving my muleta…”
And right there at the end . I was silently adding . Cautiously waiting . After all, I’m just the reader. Who am I to try to conduct the ending I wanted to see. Similar feeling watching a great movie . Getting a bit antsy as all the strands of the plot come together for the finale , hoping it will not disappoint .
“And when he recognized the matador in his younger son, when he handed me his neatly folded red cape and his sharp pencils, well you better believe I accepted them.
On my knees.
Eyes down.”
Yeah that part. Exactly how I wanted it to end.
You are worthy.
Loved this one.
So so great. Your stories are so relatable. We all have a matador in us, whether we like it or not. In the end it's simply about how we choose to use our gifts. I'm grateful for your stories. They always elicit a deep emotional response in me. A chance to reflect, and a chance to let go of what doesn't serve me anymore.