A Father's Collage

My children have filled a scrapbook of memories. Memories that are very similar to, perhaps duplicates of, the memories held by millions of fathers. Undistinguished, common memories that yet are priceless. These memories are largely fond ones. Conversations, attempts to change hair color, soccer games, skiing, and holidays. But not all of the memories bring smiles. Arguments over curfews, sickness and futile efforts to fix something wrong. Some memories are of anger, concern, and worry. These memories form a collage. A collage that has no obvious coherence or obvious messages. These memories do not portray complex lives, gripping struggles, nobility of purpose or exotic settings. But a fellow father, looking at my collage, might recognize my memories as much like his own. And he and I, looking at our almost identical collages, would smile at our "art" and share our good fortune that our collages have so many pictures.