Father’s Day 2025

                                                                                                                

                 

My father, Arthur Perin, was born March 6, 1898, in Connersville, Indiana, the eighth of twelve children.  He served as a member of the U.S. Marine Corps in World War I.  The only story I remember him telling me about his service when as a youngster came as I would ask, “What did you do in the war daddy?” He told of his ship being shot out from under them. He was able to grab a bit of floating debris.  Along came another marine, a rather stout man, who grabbed for the same debris.  Not a big enough piece for the two of them, my dad left to find something else to hang onto until rescued.  Obviously, he lived to tell the story!  The older I got, the more I wondered about the truth of the tale!  It made no difference; he was my hero in any case.

Dad was a jack of all trades and did well at most everything he tried. He made a set of chess pieces when I was about seven. They were fashioned on a lathe with the knights carved by hand.  I still have the set but am no better at playing than I ever was. He made many other hand-crafted works. The most ambitious items he crafted were four violins which were made in his 75^th year.  I arranged for those instruments to be donated to “The Last Repair Shop,” a part of the Los Angeles School District.  The students will repair them as needed and they will then be given to students who might not be able to have one otherwise.

My dad passed July 8, 1981, in West Salem, Oregon.  The older I get the more I wish I had lived closer so we might have shared more. 

 

From the Public Page of my Private Journal 

The thought simply slipped from within the shadows of my mind . . .

 I think it is time to leave.

     Death.  We try as hard as we can to not think about it as though not thinking about it keeps it from knocking at our door.

    Of course, the specter from those shadows comes to the door of each of us at some point like it or not.

    Perhaps it is natural that at my age of 83 (now 90) I should find myself considering the shape of things to come.  Change comes at the blinking of an eye—whether it is ten minutes from now or ten years.  I am ready.

    There are things left undone.  How few of us truly wrap up loose ends in our lives before we change, before we move on to whatever awaits us at the turning of the page.  I have pledged to do as my mother had done, return as many things as she could to the people who had blessed her with them as gifts.  At her passing she was truly free of the burdens of things.  My pledge is so far unfulfilled, but I pledge to keep at it.

    I long ago developed my philosophy of afterlife reality.  I am satisfied that the beliefs I have come to are completely workable for me.  Those beliefs are shaped mainly by eastern religious philosophy.  For many years I have felt that so-called Christians had so diluted and polluted the teachings of Jesus as to make what is left bare threads of what his life truly represented.  Enough said about that.

    If I have regrets, and I do, they come from decisions made that were not so well thought out as I had believed.  Some of those decisions have caused harm to others.  Some, naturally, have benefited others as well as my own life.  I will stand judged not by some far off God, but by my own conscience, which I am certain may be harsher than a loving god would pronounce upon me.

    Not a day goes by that I do not give thanks for the life I have been blessed to live.  I consider myself most fortunate to have survived despite everything I have done to distract me from a course that might have been.  I may leave little trace of my presence this time around.  I will know, and I do, what I have accomplished.  I feel satisfied that I have contributed to the world in which I live, though few may ever know what that has been.

    Finally, I thank all of you who have walked, at least for a time, with me on the path.  You have given me more than you know, probably because I have failed to tell you so.  I tell you now with love and a grateful heart: Thank you!

    Comes also from the shadows of my mind the thought . . .

 Love never fails.

(Reposted from May 20, 2018)

Mother’s Day 2025

          

There are many kinds of mothers, many kinds of children and many kinds of families.  There are special folks who become very much like substitute mothers. And of course there are grandmothers!  Where would be without them? This is the day set aside for remembering them all.

My mother, pictured above, born in 1902 lived one month short of 100 years. As a man now 90 years on the path of life, I have had my share of experiences to which I can attach memories of the good times, the growing pains and the effort I put into my relationship with my mom. One thing I believe I understand is that for all the influence she had on my development, who I am is not her responsibility. To the extent that I have been open to learning from my life as her son, it has been possible to meet many of her hopes and expectations for whom I would become. In the final analysis, however, the choices have been mine to make for the better or the worse.

I honor my mom with unconditional love, appreciation for her efforts to provide the best base for living that she could and even forgiveness for any assumed faults I believe she may have had.

I hope you can find a special place in your heart to honor the best your mother had to offer you. For some that may be difficult. For real growth, however, it is important to recognize what we can gain from her that aids us along our path. “Love one another” was not for the simple relationships. It is for all relationships.