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My dad died 10 years ago at the age of 94. His name was Karl Alfred Parsons and he taught physics and astronomy at Eastern Michigan University most of his life. When he was a boy he wanted to be a surgeon but the Great Depression altered his course and he had to settle for a less expensive career.

Words never seem to reach the places that hold the feelings that a son and a father share. I know that I am not eloquent enough to capture the essence of the real connection that I had with my dad. There is something magical and subtle and universal about fathers and sons and I suspect that we all share some of those feelings. For this Fathers Day I'll share the words of one of my favorite writers and poets, William Stafford:

Father and Son

No sound – a spell – on, on out

where the wind went, our kite sent back

its thrill along the string that

sagged but sang and said "I'm here!

I'm here!" – till broke somewhere,

gone years ago, but sailed forever clear

of earth. I hold – whatever tugs

the other end – I hold that string.

– William Stafford – from The Way It Is

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