It’s a pretty day in late January, but in a world largely devoid of joy, full of hate and fury, injustice and deception joyfully triumphant, the future shrouded in malodorous mists. But still, … rays tinged in amber shades of joy break through.
I’m plodding my way through Norton’s anthology of English literature, Volume 2 after fifty or so years, I’m only on my second Poet, William Blake, someone deeply inspired by religion but who contrasted innocence with reality’s depravity, and as so often happens with almost anything, it made me think of my second son, Alex. Ironic given Alex’s current views, But Alex, unlike so many now, is still open to other views.
Nothing in my life has ever been as beautiful as Alex as a young child. Generous, full of love, and reveling in delight at the smallest things, almost no matter what. A cry so beautiful no music compared in stirring my heart and motivating me to succeed. So sharing and generous he set an example for me which I’ve always tried to follow. His faith in me, the greatest reward I ever received. He is very far away and I love and miss him very much.
He’s grown and changed a great deal, at least externally. He’s a father now, and a husband, and an aspiring author. His writing is mostly of battles and monsters and gore but I wonder if somewhere there isn’t a beautiful fragile flower full of hope waiting to be born. Little Alex is still there, not all that far from the surface. I wonder how he’d enjoy writing poetry instead. Not in verse, he’s too free, too independent for that. But his empathy has saved many a friend, and sometimes, a dad as well.
I recall that little children always loved him, and animals did too. And friends always trusted him even if they’d once been antagonists and treated him poorly. It’s hard not to come to love Alex: ask Salo and Paula, and now Missy too. Layers upon layers and dreams upon dreams. Trials upon trials I wish I could have spared from him, but life’s like that, the best laid plans too often go astray. But still, Alex is Alex and nobody else, which is as it should be.
Reflections and dreams, rays of sunshine on bitter days, memories to warm the heart. That was, is and always will be, … Alex to me.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2021; all rights reserved. Please feel free to share with appropriate attribution.
Guillermo (“Bill”) Calvo Mahé (a sometime poet) is a writer, political commentator and academic currently residing in the Republic of Colombia (although he has primarily lived in the United States of America of which he is also a citizen). Until 2017 he chaired the political science, government and international relations programs at the Universidad Autónoma de Manizales. He is currently a strategic analyst employed by Qest Consulting Group, Inc. He has academic degrees in political science (the Citadel), law (St. John’s University), international legal studies (New York University) and translation and linguistic studies (the University of Florida’s Center for Latin American Studies). He can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org and much of his writing is available through his blog at http://www.guillermocalvo.com.