A Mi Papá

Father:

Jera just fell asleep as I read to her Emerson's “Self-Reliance” and thought about you. A beautiful essay, and one I have read many times over. I think of you when I read it, for some reason. Perhaps it is as simple as you and him sharing a name, but whatever it is, Waldo draws my mind to Waldo.

Emerson begs me, in his essay, to rely first on what is inside of me for direction. He pleads with all men my age to say what crosses our mind's eye unequivocally, waiting for the approving nod of no other man.

“Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.”

Self-reliance. I'm willing to bet all that our namesake didn't have half the father I have.

I do what I do today with my eyes straight ahead, nearly unflinching, looking as if I act only to the tune of that “iron string”, but anyone who knows me well knows that, though my gaze appears unflinching, I glance to my periphery with each and every step I take to see if you are nodding. No man's nod meant anything to Ralph. He could not have had a father like you. Your nod means the world to me.

I glance for it not out of self-consciousness but out of curiosity and eagerness. I glance to the teacher wondering what more I, the student, can learn.

There are times when foolishly, I stop glancing, and those have been the most painful. I want you to know that though my eyes seem fixed forward, I am looking to you more than ever, now, for your direction and your blessing. Now, when life is moving ever faster for both of us, I adore the power of your wisdom in my life.

I have known no stronger man in my life than you.

A cascade of mental snap shots comes to mind when I ponder on our journey together. I remember, of course, those times when you were weak and broken down. These times do not stand out to me. While some might think of Chuck Emerson and think of those hard times when you fell totally ill, I do not. I remember a man that was bigger than life when I was a young boy. I recall a man who made me laugh. A man who gave himself to those around him. A man who embodied love and embodied that force that is slipping faster and faster away from our world: genuine fatherhood. A man who gave direction, solicited or not. A man firm of his convictions. A man whose word was, ultimately, but gently, the last word. And for good reason.

As we have grown together over this short quarter of a century, I have learned most of what I know about most of what I know from you. You have taught me how to have faith in the face of overwhelming adversity. You have shown me how to turn a discerning eye to the world, such that right and wrong don't blend together but rather separate from one another and make themselves clear. You have taught me how to love and to be loved. How to give of myself. You taught me how a man smiles. How a man speaks with force and conviction. How a man cries.

Our lives, for better, have drawn certain parallels. Believe, dad, that if you wouldn't, I wouldn't have it any other way. You and I, even when we are in the starkest kind of disagreement, are cut of the same cloth. I just wish the cloth looked as good on me as it does on you. But if I am certain of little else, I am certain of this: when I follow in your footsteps, the cloth from which I am cut becomes more and more favorable. My burdens become lighter and lighter. And my smiles brighter and brighter.

I owe you happiness and reverence and faith, and everything that comes with those things, until the very day that I shuffle off this mortal coil. Because I know that, whether I deserve it or not, you will enduringly impart those things on me until your very end.

You will always be bigger than life to me, and I am soliciting your direction. And Ralph Emerson's father could not have possibly held a candle to Charles Emerson Jr.

Jera is sleeping soundly, having fallen away to my voice reading one of my favorite essays, and I am compelled to give you my eternal pledge: I am now, and always will be, listening to your words. I am now, and ALWAYS will be, looking for your nod.

Thank you.

Love.

Charles III