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Antigonish Review # 149
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Cover
Family Photo by Brendan Sanderson
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Remembering My Father
Eric Sanderson |
Having read several of the
memoriums on my father it is quite difficult to add further comment
on his kindness, his generosity, and his humor without sounding
repetitious. It seems as though many people have had the opportunity
to experience those very significant attributes of my father.
Indeed, he was at the same time highly educated and also firmly
rooted in the rural community around his home. Few people have
the opportunity to have had such a good parent as I had. Many
times those people that we admire in the classroom, or lecture
hall, or laboratory lead unbalanced lives, suffering shortcomings
of a personal nature which diminish the quality of their personal
life. This was not the case with my father.
Over the years I met many of his former students,
and their impression of him was not unlike mine. He came across
as a wise, funny, compassionate teacher. I cannot count the numerous
times we sat around the dinner table and talked about philosophy
or history, or contemporary thought. It came as quite a shock
to me after leaving home that other dinner tables were not frequented
by such dynamic discourse. He conducted his classes as though
he were having everyone over for dinner, providing a personal
and relaxing atmosphere of discussion. Little did we (his children
and students) know that my father's humor was a lure to get one
to think in a manner that was more complex, sophisticated, and
humane. Deep thought did not have to be scary or dramatic; it
could sneak up on someone, without their realizing it.
With my father's passing, a truly open mind, in
the tradition of the great philosophers, has left us. As is the
case with all those persons who have looked at themselves and
the world deeply, my father was very humble, and patient. He loved
people and enjoyed the time he spent with those around him. He
also tried to impart a few lessons to all of us, myself included,
which I am afraid to my discredit I did not always understand
in a timely enough fashion. My father firmly believed in hope
and in the essential goodness of every person. He had faith in
the universe and its workings. It was these attributes of my father
that allowed his voice to touch people's hearts. That is a rare
gift in an age when pointless dialogue is rampant and deep listening
of the heart has disappeared. Indeed, my father's patient listening
was the key to his superb comedic timing.
I wish I had appreciated my father's gifts a little
more while he was still among us. I miss him deeply with an exquisite
longing for his presence and the intricacies of his personality.
I regret that more people did not make his acquaintance, for he
was not just a person worth meeting, he was a person worth getting
to know better. That desire to get to know my father better stayed
with me my whole life so that every return home was not just a
homecoming, but enjoyable for the new nuances of my father's persona
that were revealed. It is redundant to say that he has been missed.
For me, as for those around him, the impact of his life's presence
was promethean. He lived a full and vibrant life and always sought
to make the lives of others around him better.
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