This is a picture of my dad and I! He was never really a climber per se, but he led me up Clingman's Dome when I was about eleven years old. It was a big deal to me then, and of course I still remember the view...
Thanks, Dad! Thanks for climbing out of the vortex, that widespread social poverty of The Great Depression and for being a huge success. Thanks for saving us all from becoming sharecroppers. Thank you. Thank you for showing me what to do, by example. You are my model.
He, along with my mom, got me involved in Boy Scouts, amongst other things. My parents took my sisters and I to distant places all over the continental United States. Tennessee that year, 1971, was just a long-weekend's trip, but for some reason, my Dad took the time to take us up there, to one of the highest points in the Appalachians.
Last year, he and I hiked to the top of Enchanted Rock, that granite dome down in the Hill Country of Texas. After we reached the summit, we parted ways for a few hours. My dad hiked back down to the parking lot to wait for me while I conned a gullible young Aggie to belay me on one of the rock climbs.
When I arrived at the car, he was reading the newspaper as he has always done. The radio was on either a college game or a talk show --- which is all the same to me --- but he switched it off as I doffed my back pack full of gear. Gradually settling into the vehicle as we talked, and I realized how far away we live from each other. We were both missing vital moments in each others' lives. For the previous nine years that I had been in Wyoming, we'd been lucky to see each other once a year, if that often. Here we were now, chatting like a couple of parrots. I was thoroughly enjoying it, aware that we would soon forfeit this place in time for a different one that involved a lot more people.
It's hard to put such feelings down in black & white, or to even talk about them.
Hey, Dad. Climb on!
Back to Bentley's Home Page
© 1997 gnorga@aol.com
Get your own Free Home Page