Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

  • Home
    Home This is where you can find all the blog posts throughout the site.
  • Tags
    Tags Displays a list of tags that have been used in the blog.
  • Bloggers
    Bloggers Search for your favorite blogger from this site.
  • Login
    Login Login form

Fathers and Sons

My father watches me approach. The look on his face is complex.

He shakes his head, wondering.

“You look so much like my father,” he says.

Sometimes one single sentence is the very best gift you can give.

He's right: the rangy build, the jaw, the widow's peak. Right now I'm about the age that my grandfather would have been when I first remember him.

He was born in Vienna. I'd always thought that his name was Frank, but recently I found out that his parents named him (for the kaiser, I suppose) Franz Josef.

I'd be willing to bet that he chose Frank himself. Except for songs, he always refused to teach his children any German.

“We're Americans,” he'd say.

I nod.

“I've noticed that lately myself,” I say.

 

 

 

Last modified on
Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

Comments

Additional information