adieu mes enfants...

FAREWELL, MY CHILDREN

May Good Fortune and Great Happiness

Follow You, All the Days of Your Longevities

By Izzy Ess of Creativeness

[Still kicking in my 76^th year of interesting,

and most stimulating, “turns” of events.]

There are no words to accurately describe the way my son will make a silly grin and open wide his eyes in mock surprise and clap his hands the way a child may awkwardly accomplish glee, while all the while expressing some delight in something somewhat silly or extremely serious or most exciting, eh?  My other son was always mostly serious but did maintain a bevy of some silly, funny stories which we oft exchanged until the day he said, “Don’t ever tell me any jokes that you have personally and originally re-created!”  I remember him when he was three and four years old, just eagerly reaching up and holding on my larger hand, to cross a traffic road and get to somewhere like the old Museum of many Sciences and bold Industries in old rebuilt Chicago, which we visited together at least some thirty Sundays, for entire afternoons, to gaze at wondrous demonstrations of the scientific principles of life or watch the huge and complicated model railroad grand display.  The younger son did not depend on me so much, but did adore his loving mother who was sure to set the rules and regulations of behaviour, while I, the not so perfect parent, would be wont to let him do his own delightful things.  I remember Sunday mornings when both my sons would wake up early with me, while my first wife was still sleeping, and enjoy a healthy, hearty breakfast and discuss things as I thought they really were, when all the while, I wasn’t sure of anything.  In the afternoons, we’d watch da Bears, or hapless Cubs, play ball.  Or, we’d play some chess or Scrabble.

One occasion, I was teaching them to make perspective lines from focal points, to make a painting/drawing seem to be reality.  My oldest grabbed the ball and drew a wondrous system of big tubes and terminals with perfect depth and synchrony.  My youngest took my sample drawing and retired to his own small corner of the living/dining room and with a box of brightly coloured crayons, he proceeded to light up my drawing with bright oranges, deep purples, blues and yellows on the buildings, streets and sidewalks.  I was so delighted I designed a city block with bright embroidery silks, quite similar to the notion that my youngest had, with shaded orange, purple, blue and greenish buildings, in perspective to a viewer’s eye.  The embroidered shiny acetate, about a three foot square, did hang in my reception room of my expensive office for some twenty years.  It drew the “oohs” and “aahs” from many patient patients and some very pompous visitors, who all thought that my embroidery was made professionally and was worth a lot more than the paltry cost it cost me to create.  Later, it was such a comfy bed for one of my many cats, in my old empty house.

My sons seem distant now, embroiled in their own families and their many works.  I hope that they pass on the old techniques of most perspective drawings to their kids, their kith and kin, and just enjoy their joy at making images that are unique.  The very son, who chose bright colours to enhance enjoyment of my drafted pencil drawing, is a busy teacher and practitioner of great massages and has taken time to sculpt and paint and re-create some striking works of art.  My other son is highly touted as a grand computer programmer and analyst. He speaks a lot of complex new computer languages, so fluently, that he is asked to programme things around the world.  His programme diagrams might just remind him of the morning we had spent exploring the relationships in such perspective as to simulate the programmes that he re-creates.  Recently, he broke communication with me for some reason that I cannot fathom.  My other son has recently remarked that he cannot, in all good conscience, read the blogs that I have written.  I’m sorry, sons, that I have disappointed both of you, somehow, by trying to express myself as my own self.

My other child, a beautiful and talented young daughter, has not spoken to me since she was a teenager, again for reasons that I cannot understand.  Perhaps, I said or did something that displeased her and her mother helped her isolate herself from me.  I’m truly sorry if I hurt you all, my children.  Maybe you can find forgiveness in your hearts and come around some day with a short note, or shorter visit, or a lengthy email, so we can discuss our differences.  I feel we can re-build our bridges to a peaceful place of harmony betwixt us, all.  Perhaps, that’s just an old man’s wish, like Willie Shakespeare’s old King Lear’s.  I just found out through my one son, that this young daughter that I spawned in Love, is married and may have small children of her own.  God Bless you all, my children and my children’s families.  May all of you live big in Peace and Happiness, forever, with or sans communications with me.  And, may all your problems be so little that they solve themselves.  May all your kith and kin be at your side when you need help and may you help them through their troubled times, as they help you.  Amen and Hallelujah!

THE END

© izzy sommers, md

Welland, Canada

August 8, 2013

8/8/13, eh?