The Ol' Man

The Ol' Man, that's what my brothers called my Dad. I never called him that out of respect, but he did call him self an ol' timer. Yesterday, as I was painting some art, a doll, who was not included in the cabinet, fell upon my works.

He is a doll that arrived this fall in a box of mementoes and art from my sister's house. As I took him out of the box, my jaw went slack, and I said to him, "You are the spitting image of my Dad!"


So, I propped him up on a chair that was in some of my Mother's other stuff, and there he has sat for a year, in my art studio.

Since you, the reader, have no idea what my Dad looked like, I give you 1/2 a portrait:

And then, you can compare, my cropped version of the Ol' Man doll:

After this doll fell, I set out to find another memento of my Father in my house; something else that wished to speak to me. Along with the photo, I found this ceramic couple. No doubt my Mother's version of she and my Dad as they waned into their elder years.

This is a section of a portrait painted by my late brother, of my Dad. The Ol' man was in his heyday here, wading in arctic water, drinking a Leinenkugel.

This, I would say, is the quintessential Father I knew. For me, being the youngest,  he was older, settled, relaxed, and as the top of the doll's head pointed out:

Retired.

I think I'll retire this ol' doll to the cabinet. Perhaps he was lonely in my art studio. After all, I do run a doll's resting home: Dignity for dolls/ Dolls with dignity. (They just don't all know it yet!) They have all retired in some form or another, and are gathered together in Granny's doll cabinet to bring happiness and curiosity to all who pass by...just like my Ol' Man did.