Sometimes our father was silent on matters I’d hope he’d respond, defend himself, speak up, correct errors, adjust and align to brings matters a little more in his favor.
But now, I think I understand, or at least I am beginning to understand.
He seemed to sit and watch, observing closely all that was gong on around him, taking it all in, and I’d wait for an assessment but he’d offer none.
I think that now I understand.
Sometimes our father relayed naval stories of such graphic violence with such painful and long-lasting ramifications that I’d wish he’d hold his silence.
But, he could not.
Action at sea and losses of friends to the water, the onboard fires, the sirens and warnings of imminent attack were buried deeply in his memory and left him a gentle man, tolerant, but not naming of fools. He was one who entertained wild and youthful ideas while seeing it all against a backdrop requiring he not respond, speak up, correct the errors, adjust and align or brings matters a little more in his favor.
Perhaps, even though I hsve never faced action at sea or the graphic fears that are the backdrop of war, I can begin to understand why I tend to choose silence when others may prefer me to respond.
Perhaps it is so — silence is golden.
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