Thursday, September 14, 2017
My Father And Father Keating
By Donovan Baldwin
Most mornings are almost ritualistic for me. There are certain steps I take after falling out of bed, usually in the same sequence
Eventually, I wind up wondering what I am going to write about today.
Sometimes, I actually have an idea! Maybe I made notes to remind me the day before, but, often, when I begin typing the first words each morning, my mind is a blank as far as topics go.
Usually, something appears.
Father Jules Keating "appeared" this morning.
A kind and gentle priest, loving and caring, he forever was locking himself out of the rectory at Saint Thomas More parish in Warrington, Florida, or locking his keys in his car.
In his youth, my father had spent some time as a locksmith, and, since we lived only a block away, when Father Keating knocked at our door, we knew that Daddy had to go break into the rectory, or his car.
Not a whole lot of lesson there, but, for me at least, a good memory.
A boy watching his father emulate a cat burglar.
Actually, it was "neat" knowing my dad, to the right, could do such things.
Most people never knew that about him. He was quiet and reserved and most people didn't realize the range of his skills.
He had been a concert violinist, had fenced, knew shorthand, and taught himself a myriad of other skills. A secret man the world never knew.
I bet there are neighbors on this street with interesting skills. I bet some of you could surprise us. Really.
Morning, just musing about good times and good people.
Eventually, I wind up wondering what I am going to write about today.
Sometimes, I actually have an idea! Maybe I made notes to remind me the day before, but, often, when I begin typing the first words each morning, my mind is a blank as far as topics go.
Usually, something appears.
Father Jules Keating "appeared" this morning.
A kind and gentle priest, loving and caring, he forever was locking himself out of the rectory at Saint Thomas More parish in Warrington, Florida, or locking his keys in his car.
In his youth, my father had spent some time as a locksmith, and, since we lived only a block away, when Father Keating knocked at our door, we knew that Daddy had to go break into the rectory, or his car.
Not a whole lot of lesson there, but, for me at least, a good memory.
A boy watching his father emulate a cat burglar.
Actually, it was "neat" knowing my dad, to the right, could do such things.
He had been a concert violinist, had fenced, knew shorthand, and taught himself a myriad of other skills. A secret man the world never knew.
I bet there are neighbors on this street with interesting skills. I bet some of you could surprise us. Really.
Morning, just musing about good times and good people.
Labels: donovan baldwin, father, Father Keating, Saint Thomas More
