My dad is the true family storyteller. I have a thousand memories of hearing his fabulous, fantastical tales throughout my childhood. He's intuitively talented in the art of the cliffhanger ending...and I spent endless energy as a kid trying to get him to tell me MORE (now!!) of the story. Not to make me WAIT (no!!!) until its continuation the next day. Verbal page-turners, that's how I remember those magical tales.
My dad did not succeed in passing down to me his love of gardening (or, let's face it, any skill AT ALL when it comes to plants--LOL). I could never fall in love with the game of backgammon. And, while I always liked tennis, I didn't have his genuine passion for that, either.
I think of his stories every day, though, and I never cease to appreciate them. The creative structure, the excellent pacing and the strong morals inherent in the narration...the well-drawn characters and exotic settings...sigh. However much I may formally study the craft of writing fiction, a part of me will still always hold my dad's storytelling as the standard because, above all, I was compelled by his tales. I cared about what happened. And decades later, I still remember them.
Thanks, Dad. Happy Father's Day!! xoxo
Wishing all the dads out there a wonderful day as well. For those reading, any favorite memories of your fathers or grandfathers?