my earliest memories are of dad's giant face smiling lovingly at me like the sun. guiding my little left hand and drawing, over and over and over, a smiley face. his hand covering my entire back as he held my wobbling baby body up for a photo (i was 3 months old; mom & dad identified the source of this memory when i told them of it). toddling around our old oregon street house in my diaper, his oily garage cap and his giant work boots (dad always was a public school teacher, but his avocation remains self-taught renaissance man of the practical: handyman of all things house-related, loving gardener, mechanic, historical writer.) listening to stories he and mama read us every night. laughing our butts off at the adventures of dad's cartoon creation, star rat, a whiskered rodent chomping a cigar.
gilbert gia always has been a handsome, humble, faithful, principled, gentle gentleman of patience and loyalty, a firm believer in social justice and humans (though with deserved outrage toward those who want more than their share of the pie, or deny others theirs). i could write forever and ever about him and our mother; they have long been my heroes... and james loves them now, so much, too. they have accepted him as their son. they always demonstrate this crucial idea: there is enough love to go around.
happy father's day, dad...
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