Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver

Sunday, June 15, was a quiet day. Because I wanted to find a biography written by some relatives about my paternal great grandmother, whom we called Sweet Grandma, I was rifling through papers and came upon letters from my father. One read so much like a poem that I had to type it up as one. (See below.) The letter is evidence that Dad had dementia. But he wanted to keep in touch. The letter bears his wit but lacks the polish of his usual compositions. As an articulate Presbyterian minister and college professor he was an excellent writer. As I read this letter, it impressed me as poetry. Dad was also a poet.

I’m trying to decide whether to write a poetic reply. I’ve noticed I have an accumulation of poems about him and to him already. Upon discovering this letter and some others from him, and rereading parts of a memoir he wrote for us kids, I was reminded of his deep love for us. It was so intense that he could not handle its power. We sometimes complained that he had retired from us. It was so difficult to witness his decline. He had a great mind.

I think each of his kids had a unique relationship with him. In my case, he coached me a great deal on how to write, and when I was a teaching assistant, he had advice. I inherited his humor, so if you enjoy my plays on words and the dark twists I give to things, Dad taught me how to do that. All I had to do was watch him, listen, and imitate.

This poem retains Dad’s wording, mechanics, and spacing, except for the line breaks into a poem. His letter was typed on flimsy typing paper. I think it may have been written in the late 90s. He referred to my first book, a textbook, which was set to be published in 1999 by Harcourt Brace. Dad died in December 2000. 

Dad always began his letters with notes about the weather, but here he jokes about email and the internet. He was new to this technology, so he quips about Com. (Com dot) Instead of .com (Dot com). Rather than weather, he places his letter in the context of our placement in the cosmos. He loved astronomy. The letter is comical, fun-loving. It reads like notes for a standup routine on Saturday Night Live, which we often watched together. 

On Father’s Day 2025

Dad speaks in an undated typed letter,
probably circa 1998, a couple of 
years before his passing: 

E-Mail is ---------Free !!
Grants Pass, Ore.; Yukon, Ala.; Bogata, Col.;
and all around the world,
the third rock from the sun,
Milky Way Galaxy. If you can imagine 
a reasonable source for this communication,
you’ve got it.

O. I forgot….include: Com.
No communication is complete 
without Com.

Another day. In fact, this communication
was begun 15 minutes ago, which was really
yesterday. Present time is 12:20 AM 
the day after I got up yesterday.
Mom is computing all of the implications
of the game of solitaire. No conclusions 
have been reached.

The Rogue River is still running. 

Life is full of     excitement here unless
you get sick and have to recuperate.
I’m feeling quite well. And appreciate 
your assistance in all of the hospitalizations,
Barbara Ann.

I must close before the Sun comes up and 
my correction fluid runs out. 

We love you….

Post Script (carefully printed out by hand)….
        How is the book doing, Barbara Ann?
        How did the Music appointment go, Dierik?

*****

So on Father's Day, I felt like I was spending time with Dad. He’s still with me as I write this. I dedicated two books to him: Too Much Fun To Be Legal (wacky fun-loving poems with plays on words) and The Lost Book of Zeroth (a satirical look at AI robots fumbling as they suffer the human condition.) Dad would have loved my spoofs on AI technology. As for my social commentary poems, he was just as passionate about the issues he cared about. He used to write letters of concern to many people, including elected officials. He was the chaplain for Michigan's State Police, by the way, and wrote about the problems troopers faced. I wonder what he would have thought about life today considering how technology has affected people's connections in both good and bad ways.