Special deliveries for dads and some summery fun:
- Gatsby to Garp
- kind hearts and coronets + the best years of our lives
- early American guitars
- dioramas
- coco helado
- sailing in the city
Happy weekend.
Showing posts with label dads. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dads. Show all posts
this weekend
'but courage, father! let us out to sea'
Filed under feats of father/daughter derring-do: on the morning of September 7, 1838, Grace Darling, the daughter of a lighthouse keeper, noticed survivors from the shipwrecked Forfarshire on the rocky island of Big Harcar. The seas were too rough for the local lifeboat, so Grace and her father put out to sea in a small boat and rowed close to a mile through the stormy water to rescue five people.
Grace became a Victorian media sensation, celebrated in paintings and all sorts of memorabilia (including this silver pin), as well as a poem by William Wordsworth:
All night the storm had raged, nor ceased, nor paused,
When, as day broke, the Maid, through misty air,
Espies far off a Wreck, amid the surf,
Beating on one of those disastrous isles—
Half of a Vessel, half—no more; the rest
Had vanished, swallowed up with all that there
Had for the common safety striven in vain,
Or thither thronged for refuge. With quick glance
Daughter and Sire through optic-glass discern,
Clinging about the remnant of this Ship,
Creatures—how precious in the Maiden's sight!
For whom, belike, the old Man grieves still more
Than for their fellow-sufferers engulfed
Where every parting agony is hushed,
And hope and fear mix not in further strife.
"But courage, Father! let us out to sea—
A few may yet be saved." The Daughter's words,
Her earnest tone, and look beaming with faith,
Dispel the Father's doubts: nor do they lack
The noble-minded Mother's helping hand
To launch the boat; and with her blessing cheered,
And inwardly sustained by silent prayer,
Together they put forth, Father and Child!
Each grasps an oar, and struggling on they go—
Rivals in effort; and, alike intent
Here to elude and there surmount, they watch
The billows lengthening, mutually crossed
And shattered, and re-gathering their might;
As if the tumult, by the Almighty's will
Were, in the conscious sea, roused and prolonged
That woman's fortitude—so tried, so proved—
May brighten more and more!
More to read here, here + here.
great steves: my dad
I love this picture of me, my dad, and my sister. I had a very noisy toy called the Big Mouth Singers when I was small, and I am pretty sure I am emulating it here. My sister is emulating a spud. My dad - well, he's just his own cool self. He's been that way his whole life - in high school, the kids called him Ziggy, as in Ziggy Stardust. When he got a little older and was working guiding canoe tours for inner city kids, those kids called him Steve Austin. This innate coolness was not enough for me, however. When I was little, I used to tell everyone that a family friend named Tim McKenzie was my father. It made for fun explanations from my parents.
Before I knew better, I assumed everyone's dad played in bands, raised bees, drove a park truck, and could name all of the trees in a forest (I still think everyone's dad should be able to do that). I thought all dads listened to everything from Ry Cooder to Thelonius Monk to the Pretenders and could tell you engrossing stories about Gram Parsons being buried in the desert and Stephen Stills and Bonnie Bramlett righteously punching out Elvis Costello. I figured it was no uncommon thing to have a father who took you for midnight hikes in the woods, taught you to walk without making a sound, and told you beautiful stories about the starry night sky.
I think I was about eight when I realized the truth - not only was my dad one of a kind, he was freaking cool. I'm still trying to live up to the legacy.
Happy Father's Day, Steve.
(My attempts at cool started early. That's me on the far right.)
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