an old writer and his words

  • THAT VOICE

    It is often little more thana faint whisper, distant, butnagging, on occasion in the voiceof a parent now long dead.You can strive to ignore it,may have momentary successin that endeavor, but it willrecur when you think that ithas finally been banished.It is persistent and that, morethan anything, is what makes itso irritating for you know…

    Lou Faber

  • CONSOLATION PRIZE

    I do not remember the faceof the nurse who carried meaway from you the daythe door to an alien worldwas thrown open for me.Did either of you look closelyor did I become one moremoved slowly downthe obstetric conveyor.I would have liked somelink to my birth, somethingmore than the naked assurancethat it happened and thatthere was…

    Lou Faber

  • FRUITFUL

    The world, I am willing to bet,would be a far different placeif couples fully knew what to expectbefore deciding to have theirfirst child, but hope springseternal so why not try and get it rightthe second or third time around?You have to wonder how manytwo-or-more child families there would beif parents were required to waitat least…

    Lou Faber

  • THE EASE OF FORGETTING

    I have little memory of the manwho was my first adoptive fatherand none of his funeral, two-year-olds,my mother said, should notknow of death at that age.Nor did I attend my grandmother’s,she the mother of my second adoptive fatherbecause 12-year-old shouldn’thave the memory of funerals,according to my mother.I did attend her mother’s funeral,had to because I…

    Lou Faber

  • MIND

    It takes so little to take you back. It takes no thinking but sensing to take you back.You catch an aroma of a fresh baked pie and you are thirteen and baking for the first time, apple with a lattice top for a parent soon back from the hospital. A song played in memory of…

    Lou Faber

  • SO TO SPEAK

    One of the obvious problemswith growing older is the tendencyto begin using phrases you always detestedwhen young: “back in the day,” and it’sequivalents maddened you in your youthand are now a common element of your vernacular. Worse still is the knowledge that the dayswhich you seem to lovingly recallweren’t all that good as you lived…

    Lou Faber

  • PIGGIES

    I have to stop and wonder ifthere is a parent alive whohasn’t gently pulled on the toesof achild too young to objectand recited “this little piggy.”And of course most children gigglebut not for the reason the parentssuspect or hope, but at the sightof a large person turning intoa somewhat ridiculous child.If they could comprehend justwhat…

    Lou Faber

  • GO TO YOUR ROOM

    When a petulant childacts out badly, a parentwill send the childto a corner, to his room,for a “time out”the duration of whichdepends on the child’soffense and demeanor. What are we to dowhen the child hasno parents, answersto no one, even his adultchildren, where can we,the observers go, whatcan we do except cringein horror knowing thischild…

    Lou Faber

  • HAUNTING

    The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…

    Lou Faber

  • BEFORE YOU LEAP

    She always told himthat he should, no must,“look before you leap.” He said he understoodand would do so, almostalways, he was after alla child and no promisecould be that absolute. When he came outof the anesthesia,his arm and legin a cast, he saw herscowling at him. “I did,” he said, “I did,I looked for quite…

    Lou Faber