It’s late May 1960. I’m 16 years old and about to meet the 3rd most formative man in my early life. My father is #1. The Shopkeeper is #2. This man will become #3.
I’ve just graduated from high school and am looking for a job. Read the rest of this entry »
On October 31, death put a punctuation point at the end of Bill Supplee’s earth-life. A full stop, like coming to the end of a book.
Bill gave me something to live for. Read the rest of this entry »
I don’t do dreams; I do daydreams. Especially about young men.
It’s summer 1957. I’m 13 ½ years old, going into 10th grade. I’m back in the achingly beautiful and romantic mountains of North Carolina. Read the rest of this entry »
Alas! The second half of George MacDonald’s sonnet is as tough as the first. When I first read it years ago, it sounded like 100% Bad News. Especially for me. Read the rest of this entry »
‘Have you forgiven your father?’ A fair question, never easy to answer. With regard to forgiveness, I aim to become one of the tough-minded Lewis Smedes talks about in his book, The Art of Forgiving. Read the rest of this entry »
Not once have I blamed Daddy for his beatings and troubling behavior toward me. In Part 3 of The Air I Breathed, I talked about my habit of constantly blaming myself. I didn’t like seeing this then, and I still don’t like it. Blaming myself may have been OK as a survival skill when I was a young child and teenager; it’s not OK now, decades later.
So where am I today? Read the rest of this entry »
As a child, my survival theology was short and to the point: (1) God would NEVER beat me like this, and (2) Jesus loves me no matter what, and wants to spend time with me.
My two small truths traveled well. Read the rest of this entry »
Daddy, Mother, Elouise. Until I started blogging, I was interested mainly in the meaning of my name. Now that I’m blogging I’m getting questions about the way I use other ‘names’: Daddy, my father, and Mother. I’m also thinking again about my name. Does it matter? Read the rest of this entry »
Of all the things I listed in my initial observations about Part 1, one troubles me most–my inability to blame Daddy. I’m used to blaming myself, or at least wondering whether I’m to blame for things that happen to or around me. This seems to be one of my favorite default modes. However, given the nature of the air I breathed back then, I’m surprised at my internal response: Read the rest of this entry »
Is there a better question? This past week I searched for an answer to ‘Where is my Mother?’ But I couldn’t find one; I kept getting mired in unfathomable complexity. Yes, Mother was a complex person, especially in contrast to my father. But I needed to find another approach. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 