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the power of men
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the power of men When I was a wee lass, I was blessed with the presence of two men, my grandfather and my uncle, both farmers and both men who loved the sound of their own voices. They were tale tellers and jokesters and life lived in them as though it had found a place that was roomy. I spent most summers at my uncle’s farm with cousins of my age and learned how to do chores and live in nature and feel the freedom of being in a place that had boundaries that were a quarry and a river. We followed nature’s light, rising early and sleeping when the sun went down. Each Tuesday and Thursday I spent the day with my grandfather. Grampa, whose name was Raymond Wesley, was called Tom by all who knew him and he nicknamed everyone else in much the same fashion. I was called little Irish. My days with him were magical days, spent in the fields as he terrified me with the history of the world and my family, telling me horrifying stories as I ran in panicky circles around him as we walked. His history lessons became the truth of my youth and while as a of 7 his large words would often slip by me , the core was there for me to swallow. When it became too large and my circles too frantic, we would climb our sitting rock, and I would collapse against him as the sun beat down on us both and sip nectar from honeysuckle while his calloused hands untwirled the curls on my head, sending me to sleep. Such safety is rare. As I grew older, the stories changed but the rock always ended our day and I trusted him for the truth til the day he died. The time at my uncle’s was gentler by far. He was a stunning man – perhaps the first man I ever looked at and thought the word beautiful. His name was Wesley but everyone called him Mike…….grampa again. My mama called him Wes and loved him more than anything. I think she gave me to him for the summer so I could know him like she had, he was that special. He would come in from the barn after the night milking kick off his boots and shout, where is my woman. Auntie would look up and her face would shine……..just shine. My cousin Jim would scoot us all out the door. Isn’t it wonderful for a man to so enchant his wife and for his to know it? He became for me the man I would marry. These men formed a triad along with my father. I would sit in my bedroom window and watch the street where my father would walk home to us each night from his work. As a preteen I would weep and imagine life without him. As a little girl I would restlessly move back and forth in anticipation of him turning the corner and that moment when he would appear. The best times were the winter when the streetlights were on and would catch him…he wore a fedora and under the light he looked like a movie star. My father was all things safe and sure. I love men.  You cannot conceive the many without the one. |
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Again with the beautiful details. I think I fell a bit in love with your men. It made me smile and remember my grandfather with his big booming laugh. Thank you.
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I love your descriptions because they remind me of my uncles and grandfathers. I think their power, attraction, and mystery stems from being larger-than-life figures when we're young. We're cognizant of our differences. And now I'm questioning whether our society allows men or encourages them to be the masculine, caring, loving, mysterious males they potentially can be. Never ignore those who care for you you will have lost diamonds while you were collecting stones
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How absolutely wonderful that you had such men in your life; that must have given you a wonderful feeling of safety and security that I can't even begin to understand.  Elevate me... 
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What a beautiful reminiscence. Your opening, "When I was a wee lass, I was blessed with the presence of two men, my grandfather and my uncle, both farmers and both men who loved the sound of their own voices. They were tale tellers and jokesters and life lived in them as though it had found a place that was roomy." is lyrical and flawless. Wicked, your post is perfection.  Become a member now and get a free tote bag.
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what a beautiful tribute to your men...and what a lasting gift they gave you! I'm with all the other posters...beautifully written, I want more, and yes, a book. Pretty please! xoxo Always tell the truth Use kind words Keep your promises Giggle and laugh Be positive Love one another Always be grateful Forgiveness is mandatory Try new things Say please and thank you Say your prayers Smile ~Author unknown
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Love this post...a lovely tribute... I wish I had people in my life..men or women...who had told me stories...most of my family was very taciturn in nature..and as a kid, I didn't have the wit to ask questions...and now they are all gone....
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That was quite special. Beautiful. Rachel Mae
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I am in love with your writing. Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety. Other women cloy The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies. For vilest things Become themselves in her, that the holy priests Bless her when she is riggish. ~~ from Antony & Cleopatra
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