Estella's Boys

12x24
Acrylic. Oil and Aluminum foil on Canvas

December 25th, 1955

My dad and his dad.

I had a dream my dad died. Longs story short, it scared me, when I realized what a weight he carries
for the family, and how unprepared I'd be to take his place.

What brought that on? Someone I know, their dad actually died, and he was not old.
He smoked for years before he quit, the cancer was melanoma I think.

My grandpa smoked for years and years, from cigarettes, to cigars and the tobacco pipe.

He was a member of the town council, an electrician responsible for the wiring of many houses in and around where I live.

My dad became a pastor at a church his dad lived beside years before.

The man helped this town in many secret ways. He was a volunteer firefighter to boot.

I'm none of those things haha, but the point is that those are some big shoes.

The man, from what I'm, was kind. Generous, and intelligent.

I have never met him, though I benefit today from his wise investments.


My dad was 13 years old when his father died of Cancer, right around his birthday, about a month before Christmas.

My dad was the last child and only son of a second marriage
(my grandfather was a widower before he remarried my grandmother, Estella).

This is before the weight fell on my father's shoulders. This is before he had to grow up so fast.

Here is my dad being a little kid.

I find it hard to express anything to my dad, but he is a good father and I am lucky. I am not a very great son.

What was a nightmare for me was my dad`s childhood reality.

My dad didn't get to know his father as well as he would have liked,
and has to pick up the bread crumbs left him by the old wise one's handiwork and tools and stories from people who knew him,
or heard of him.

In a way, though he wasn't around, his legacy still was around for my father to see.

New Living Translation
"Father to the fatherless, defender of widows--this is God, whose dwelling is holy."
Psalm 68:5
^something my dad says helped him in those times.
Peace.