The Painting is just a little Older…
Sitting across from him at the dinner table was one of silence. The buzz of verbal
exchanges enveloped the room and the images of smiling, laughing faces fill the lenses of
my eyes.
It is a celebration of sorts, a gathering of friends from a generation gone by, all coming
together to pay homage to this gladiator of the 20th century. For me it is like an out of
body experience, my flesh is present, but my mind is trying to deal with the reality of 70
years of life.
They say as we age, we develop an appreciation for the things in life that are most
important to us. As I sit in the confines of this crowded, noisy restaurant surrounded
by family, friends, and strangers, I realize that he was most important to me, and that
life is slowly, methodically, and quietly limiting my time left with my teacher, and the
reality is that there is nothing that I can do about it.
I watch as he moves from guest to guest with the outstretched arm of a man that is truly
grateful for their company, for he too values this opportunity to reminisce with a
collection of childhood friends and people that were instrumental in the outcome of his
life. Wow he has changed. I remember the rugged; street hardened, blue collared first
born son of Italian peasants. The hard drinking, smoking, cursing hulk of a man that
was outwardly hard, but has the heart of a lion. The sound of a deep voice that
demanded the respect that it conveyed. A man that would give you anything he had if
it would help. A home that was void of physical reflections of outward love, but was host
to years of good memories with the family. The words might not have been spoken, but
there was always a spirit of caring and concern for our well being that was always ever
present. A roof over our heads, a nudge in the direction of education, and food on the
table. Never did he question our goals; maybe a hard glance or a subtle threat but he
was always there.
The confusion of my adolescence masks the reality of his purpose, and blankets his
authority with a host of unanswered questions. It pains me now to realize how much
valuable time was wasted in areas of little substance, when they could have been spent
with him. Life has this odd way of sneaking up on you, and jolting you into the present
when you feel like you just left the past. They just seem to run into each other like the
colours in an abstract painting. Once you’ve had time to analyze the body of the work,
then you start to feel for the content that went into its creation.
I’m sitting here looking at 70 years of singular evolution, a tapestry of physical,
emotional, and spiritual fibres that have finally meshed to form a piece of art. Like a
bottle of wine ready to be opened and celebrated with friends, he has matured into a
man that is complete. Gone are the outbursts of anger, replaced with a sense of calm.
Gone are the addictions of insecurity, replaced by the deep desire to help those in need.
Gone are the materialistic wants of society, replaced with a belief in God and His
kingdom. I see a man that is content knowing his family has been allowed the chance to
approach life with less hardships, and he should be proud of that, for he was
instrumental in us achieving our goals. Like an old oak tree whose branches have
spread out to embrace the light of the world, he too moves through the restaurant
embracing the warmth of his past, and the light of his future.
I just sit here looking, proud of what he has accomplished, happy to see him enjoying the
moment, but scared about what the future has in store. I feel it’s essential to seize every
opportunity and moment available to spend with him; to etch every detail into my mind
and to drink from the cup of his life. I look forward to every chance that time allows us
to spend together, for I know in my heart that they will be cherished times. 70 years old;
where did the time go? I realize how precious life really is, and how short our
experiences in one’s lifetime actually are, but I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to
embrace him with my mind and actually watch and enjoy his transformation as the
years pass us both by.
That in itself is more valuable than anything materialistic, it has given me a better
appreciation and understanding of life and how time is the ultimate teacher.
At 70 years the mirror is the clearest it has ever been, the reflection might be a little
more grey, features slightly worn, eyes unable to hide the truth; but there’s a glow of
wisdom and contentment that leaves me feeling at ease with the whole idea of growing
older and dealing with mortality. Sure my Father is 70 years of age, but he has been
my roadmap to life and we’re not close to finishing our journey together.
So a couple more handshakes and pats on the back and he’s lost in his memories that
I’m sure will make him look at his whole life all over again in the quiet of my parents
home. I’m sure that he would be very happy with how he has lived his life, and look
forward to the future and the growth of his family.
Andrew Marcolini
April 3, 2000
