Thou Art the King of Glory

My dad is an individual that has influenced my writing in ways no other individual has. Though the familial intimacy of a father naturally provides an outlet for greater influence, my dad’s own pursuits and personal cultivation in writing has lent to a richer communal passion and value of each other’s experiences and voices.

My dad is a wise man, particularly thoughtful and methodical. He takes time; more so, he gives time carefully to the moments that need it, that deserve to be nurtured and stewarded. He never rushes, I don’t think he would do that to himself or others. He understands the importance of giving the moment, the work studied, or the prayer prayed its full breathe, and this care has bled into both his writing practice and mine.

My dad is a poet at heart, though I can’t say I’ve read any of his poetry. But he’s read mine, and has lent his thoughtfulness to me and the many poems I’ve showed him over the years. Every time he takes them slowly and after however long it takes gives them back with a monologue of encouragement and analysis and constructive criticism. I’ve learned how to experience writing alongside his own experience and in many ways would not know how to attend half as well to my writing if it weren’t for his influence.

My writing itself has indirectly reaped from my dad through his love of authors like Wendell Berry and Edward Abbey. I remember when my dad bought me my own copy of Desert Solitare by Abbey after a trip in the Sierra. His book was the first memoir I read and instilled in me a love for the genre and style, which eventually became the genre I most want to pursue in my own writing. As well as with Wendell Berry and his love of the natural in the form of poetic free verse, my dad’s influence in bringing into my life his favorite writings was just one of the many ways his love and attention to the work nourished my own and gave me the tools to grow and develop into a better writer.

Thanks Dad. I appreciate it.