Today, January 3, is an important day. It is the day of the birth of two men that have made a profound impact on my life. One, my dad. The other, an author.
My dad, James Conley Brooks, would have celebrated his 99th birthday.
In August of 2002, my dad passed away. He had been under hospice care for about six or so months. The week before he passed, we had traveled to the grocery store. He loved going to Kroger’s, riding in the assisted motorized buggies. He dressed as like a dapper man with his Stetson flat cap in grey herringbone tweed.
I asked while helping him into the buggy, “Dad, would you like for me to walk with you?”
Dad said, “No. You need to go on and gather the groceries. I’m going to see if I can pick me up a fine-looking woman and see if we can go out dancing.”
“You can’t be serious?” I smiled at him. He was fighting Parkinson’s and he had COPD, so he carried oxygen with him every where.
“Well, of course I am, daughter!”
He loved teasing me, pushing a button when I was in a hurry, and he would wink at my husband to let him know he was just “fooling,” as he would say.
I miss him. He could make me laugh.
If you have a story to share about your dad, feel free to post in the comments section.
The author, known to many as “The Professor” is J. R. R. Tolkien. On this day, he would have been 127 years old.
Though I wish it were possible, I never met The Professor in person. I met him through his writing. The first book of his that I read, The Hobbit, made a profound mark on my reading life. The second, The Lord of the Rings (all three books) finished off what The Hobbit started.
I was hooked. Big time. After that first encounter, I searched for other authors that would do for me what The Professor did to me. It didn’t take long and I fell in love with C. S. Lewis, The Professor’s good friend and fellow writing friend.
Between those two, I learned that I wanted to do to words what they did. I am still wanting to work their kind of magic. I struggle, but I keep thinking about what they did to help the world of writing become what it is. I marvel at the well placed word or thought. I search for ways to write a common idea in a new way, much as they did. The difference? They learned how to make it read and sound and seem normal.
Who is your favorite author? Leave a thought about who has touched your life in a profound way.
Until next time…
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