I Never Knew My Father

This is a tribute titled "I Never Knew My Father" written by daughter, Grace Taylor O'Dair, about her father William Taylor.

Unlike some of my friends, I cannot pull from my own memory stories of my father, for he died when I was little more than a year old. So, I never knew him...yet, I do. For with aid of pictures, writings, conversations with relatives, and brief memories my brothers have, I have put together an image of the parent I never saw. I would like to share that image, and my father with you...

I never knew my father, and yet I do. For I have your pictured likeness that shows fair, slightly wavy hair, high cheek bones, the somewhat classic features, the pensive smile. I can see that you were tall and of slender build.

My uncle has told me that you loved to dance, and of the prizes you won. On Saturday nights, the local dance place would hold a contest where couples were invited to preform the intricate steps of the Viennese waltz, and other dances, within the "silver ring". This was a six foot wooden circle laid on the floor, and the feet of the dancers must never step outside the ring. What a picture you must have made, you and me diminutive dark-haired mother, turning and stepping in that silver circle...and often, you brought home the prize. I wish I could have seen you. I love to dance. If you had lived, would you have danced with me, when I grew up?

And you could play! Your brother has told me how you used to run up and down the dark English streets, dragging your fingers over the rough bricks of the houses until they bled - to make calluses you said, so you could pluck the mandolin strings better. People would crowd the local public house on Friday nights to hear you, and the local talent theatre. I wish I could have heard you play. Perhaps, if you had been here, I might have learned to play.

You wrote too, poetry. Oh, you were ne Shakespeare, but you cared for things. I know for a have read your thoughts. I wish I could have talked with you about them. Did you know that I write poetry too? I wish you could have reads some of mine.

I know too that you were no angel. Never mind how I know, I just do. You were not always as you should be. You had no business head; you gave to much away. You caused grief and pain and heart-ache...Somehow, I wish I could have known that too.

No, I never knew you, father, but I do. For I know my son, and he is much like you; the height, the slender build, the strong yet sensitive hands. Within him too is the love of music and beautiful words. And he too is a showman in his own right, although not in your field.

I look at your picture, and your features are his; the slightly wavy hair, the high cheek bones, the somewhat classic features, the pensive smile, and the eyes, oh yes! the eyes...You dreamed too, didn't you?