You come into this world hardwired for certain things, like language.
There are other things you are predisposed to learn, some long before you will ever have need of them.
This is the man who taught me, years and years before I knew what I was learning, all I ever needed to know about masculine grace and the meaning of heat.
Invaluable lessons.
When I was growing up, there was always the possibility of him. The Silver Chalice on a Saturday afternoon (and him in that miniskirt toga…), or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof on a day I stayed home from school with the flu. I saw The Sting in a theater. I never tire of The Long Hot Summer, probably my favorite. I must have seen them all.
All my life he would appear, a special treat, like dessert. A fancy dessert, not vanilla ice cream. More like honey soufflé. And at the same time, he was comfort food. Chicken soup for a girl’s soul.
No one has ever held a candle to him.
He lived a full-throttle life. He was a philanthropist and a champion of children.
He was my gold standard for manhood.
[...] Indiana, 1963 (proof that I was of the “grew up swooning over Paul Newman” generation). Dad and my bunny and me on the swingy thingy. Mom flirting (?) with one of [...]
Yeah. What you said. I didn’t discover him till I was an adult, but even so.