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Lions Roar : January 2003
SHAMBHALA SUN NOVEMBER 2002 109 Barry Boyce continued from page 112 He became sadder and sadder in later years. The aspirations of his youth—to invent things and build his own business—had slipped through his fingers. Work for your- self, he would always say to me. Although there was a sadness about my dad, he was never gloomy. He had a great infectious laugh and smile and a sense of humor that was always at the ready. But when I was young, he still had a volcanic tem- per. He rarely erupted, and yet when he did, it was like the roar of Zeus. He could be sen- timental and proud of his highland heritage, declaring as he did many times to us, “You descend from kings.” It was his way of reminding us that although our parents did not have the education or money of the pow- erful, we were powerful nonetheless. It was a joy to be hugged by my father, who was never reserved about his love. His power also held great gentleness. A few years before he died, my mother found a mouse in the basement and she asked him to get rid of it. Surreptitiously, he began to feed the mouse, whom he named Herman. It kept him company in his shop. When my mother found out, she couldn’t believe it. He would- n’t kill it, so he put it outside. One day, I saw him crying at the window. He’d found Herman’s frozen body. I lament that my children never had him as a grandfather, because I know what that would have been like. He was a bit of a grand- father to me. Right now, my girls are laugh- ing at me, because—as my father would have—I am taking delight in reading a histo- ry of the screwdriver and the screw. But secretly they admire it a bit, the curiosity about simple things. At times like these, a lit- tle of my dad is there for them, and together we are father and grandfather all at once. ♦