Happy Birthday to D.O.D.

Who is somewhere in his 60’s today.  Hey, if you get to forget how old I am, I get to forget how old you are!  I’ve been thinking about writing my Dad for a little while now, so I thought today I’d tell you a bit about what an amazing man he is, and then write him a birthday wish.

My Dad was born in England, and then came over with his family after the war.  Things were pretty bleak in England after the war for a long time, Dad was 7 and had his first taste of ice cream on the ship with his Father.  My father was a policeman for 35 years, which has a way of changing people, but I think Dad came through it okay.  He’s a crack shot, and liked to try teaching us how to use a night stick to break people’s knees, and loved to give me advice if I ever got attacked that was usually “Kick em in the balls right away!”.  Favorite memories growing up involve many things, a little snapshot that comes to mind is my Mum giving us a lecture about behaving at the dinner table, then looking over at Dad who had two carrots shoved up his nose.  Mum was not impressed.  Ha!  Dad retired in 1994, and finally went back to his first love that he had to give up when he was 19, painting.  The family couldn’t afford to send Dad to art school, so he became a policeman instead. Not only a painter, but a creative, inspired, wonderful painter!  Where do all these ideas, these visions come from?  It is so interesting to not only see the paintings, but to hear the story, or muse behind them, what Dad is trying to show and convey.  In many paintings he tries to show motion, or a single figure from different angles, as it spins.  The subjects are wide and diverse, and colourful.  Just a heads up however, Dad does not sell his paintings, just gives them away when he wants to, and supports some charities through auctions etc.  I’m lucky enough to have a few, as is my brother.  I’m also lucky enough that my Dad has painted me twice.  This is my painting, which Dad did a few years ago called “Anne in Utah”.  It is my painting, so I feel I may put a photo up here, but please, no copying.

This painting represents me living in a different country, in Utah, where I was always separate and different than those around me.  This is because I was a Canadian living in a foreign country, where things seem the same, but there are so many differences, and I never really fit there.  My head is bowed, as I’m not happy, as I’m so isolated.  But you see, Dad painted this about a year before I really figured this out for myself.  Which leads to:

Dear Dad,

I love the paintings that you have made of me.  I remain amazed that you made a picture that captured what I didn’t even know I was feeling at the time.  The second painting you made of me, of me surrounded by DNA, is also very powerful for me, as you are capturing a feeling, an emotion that I cannot even express into words, but is a deep question about myself and what motivates my actions that I don’t understand quite yet.  I have a problem looking at that painting without being overwhelmed by emotion, and have had many discussions with friends trying to figure out some fundamental questions raised:  What have I moved around so much?  Are some of my major life decisions, that I have made by “instinct” really a product of DNA, of our genetics of which we share so many in common?  I think you may be upset as you don’t think I like the painting, but I think you should look at it as an extreme compliment that you have elicited extreme emotion in your audience, which is very important.  Some day, when I figure out more about what motivates me, or as I get older and settle down more, I would love to have that painting in my house, but now it makes me upset.  Can you understand? 

Your painting has also taught me something else that I think is priceless.  We go through our teenage years thinking our parents don’t understand us, and then we move away, and see each other rarely.  In our case it is only a few times a year.  I think we just assume that our parents only know superficial things about us, and don’t get “us” or know what is going on.  And out of politeness we don’t talk about it, (we are English after all), and we never know.  But then our parents make a picture, that demonstrates without words that they know us, they understand us, and they know what is going on with us when we don’t even know ourselves.  And that Daddy-o is a priceless gift for which I thank you.  Oh, and I hope you get the card and the book I sent you!  Tee Hee!

Love Anne