My father got his angel wings on November 7th, 1989. That was the day he left my sister and me alone on this unpredictable planet to fend for ourselves, to continue to raise our emerging families, with their unforeseen complications, and to take care of our mother. He left us to the chaos of a world surely like nothing he could have imagined. Yet… I have always felt him close by. I hear his words, his practical advice, and I see his encouragement, compassionate and tough together, in a fleeting look in a stranger’s eye, a phrase in a television commercial, sometimes echoing from a bowl of pasta or whispering through a passing cloud.
He was a sheet metal worker in his younger days; he built United States battleships in Brooklyn. He could bend a piece of metal to fashion everything from the hull of a mighty war vessel to a piece of decorative furniture, to a kitchen spatula (made in his home basement workshop, circa 1960). We still use it to flip our eggs in the morning. So it stands to reason that his wings would be made of steel, the individual feathers cut and held together by arc welds, perforated and punched with gray rivets. The wings are strong and impenetrable, yet somehow light as air. They keep him hovering nearby, through every joy and every crisis, guiding, supporting, and if we occasionally miss his message, the wings clang their powerful din, awakening us to the acknowledgement of his presence.
So here he is again, right behind me, banging and clanking those noisy wings. “Hi, dad. Get us through another one, please.”
He was a sheet metal worker in his younger days; he built United States battleships in Brooklyn. He could bend a piece of metal to fashion everything from the hull of a mighty war vessel to a piece of decorative furniture, to a kitchen spatula (made in his home basement workshop, circa 1960). We still use it to flip our eggs in the morning. So it stands to reason that his wings would be made of steel, the individual feathers cut and held together by arc welds, perforated and punched with gray rivets. The wings are strong and impenetrable, yet somehow light as air. They keep him hovering nearby, through every joy and every crisis, guiding, supporting, and if we occasionally miss his message, the wings clang their powerful din, awakening us to the acknowledgement of his presence.
So here he is again, right behind me, banging and clanking those noisy wings. “Hi, dad. Get us through another one, please.”
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The best egg flipper in the entire world... and beyond. Designed and constructed by Aldo. |
Aldo designed and made that? I love it. Yes, Lin, he is hovering around you. He loves you so much from afar...all of you. love alice
ReplyDeleteMy mom always described him as having gifted hands... he could make anything and fix anything. We just placed our "broken" things on his workbench and they always magically got fixed. I still really miss him. Love, Linda
ReplyDeleteI know you do, i know. he was a good man and a fun uncle to me and my bros and sis! love alice
ReplyDeleteLinda, wishing you well. That spatula is really elegant! As a daughter of a carpenter, I remember being so proud that Dad could fix anything! I still have my Dad, though he's a pale version of his robust, competent self. But I am grateful. good thoughts to you all
ReplyDeleteHi Kim. I am glad that you still have your dad, too. I don't know about you, but as a kid, I thought that everyone's dad just fixed stuff. Period. Take care. Linda
ReplyDeleteEXACTLY! What a shock to learn it isn't so! My dad's greatest pride was teaching my husband, an ambassador's son, to be a good amateur carpenter. Took a year of weekends helping us gut renovate our house, but those are memories F. and I both cherish.
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