As the big sister who only just found you recently, may I say — I’m in awe of and deeply moved by your ability to tell a story so layered, so achy and sad and strong and beautiful with the perfect dashes of poignant humor, it makes me feel like I’ve known you forever.
I’m sorry you lost him, brother. But I’d bet cash money you hooked more than his forehead. Sending a big sister bear hug 🤍
A gorgeous piece, Paul. This essay beautifully illustrates how much of our memories are about stories, but also how we are all so much more than stories. I'm sorry for your loss.
Love the experimentation with form here - it really works. I also hooked my mother with a fishing lure - I was 9, not drunk, but never went fishing again (nor really ate fish). She has dementia now and no longer remembers, but I will.
I learn so much from you. Today it wasn't just the story behind the situation (as it always is), but also about structure. About drafts and revision. About time. About perspective. About maturity and growth.
Honestly, when I get down about my own writing (which is daily), I often wonder what kinds of messes the best writers go through in their drafts - what those attempts look like, in real time - before I get to read that polished power.
And you gave me that glimpse today. Maybe it means little, except I want you to know that it is a relief to me, and maybe to other writers who feel invisible. It's a relief to know that every great essay or story goes through its own growth spurt, and that means my shitty writing still has some value in it somewhere, if only I keep chiseling it.
Awe, this is so sweet. I like the story. And oddly, even though I got a little confused, the point did come out. Your love for him. He’s not lost in any of it. The people are the point. The words and details around it are just your way of saying, let me tell you a little story that will SHOW you the way I love this person. And I honestly will say I was absorbed at the first paragraph. It read like someone was talking to me, and I wanted to keep flowing in that simple style. I like simple. I rhapsodize. I want to read someone’s kind voice telling me something true and pure. It’s a story about fishing—a simple and calm past time that is a bonding experience. And this goes a bit sideways, and we get to see how the stepdad handled it. He handled it like a man. With love and understanding. And for just that alone, I love that man. Because of you. Someone I never even met. Nice work. I like it
This is so lovely. It reminds me of those hours spent sitting around my father’s bed with my brothers telling stories and the discoveries that came from those stories.
I’m so sorry, Paul. I’m just sitting here sobbing. I know it’s what happens, but god it just hurts like hell. Thank you for sharing him with us. The Christmas plumbing story is everything you’d ever need to know about anyone, but the fishing lure in his forehead, and the effort not to make you feel bad about it at 14 just ripped my heart out. Sending you my deepest condolences, friend. To you, your mom, Jenn, and your whole family. May all the memories be a blessing.
This struck me deeply, thank you, Paul. Makes me think of my beloved stepdad, also gone, to whom I owe so much. You've really captured your stepdad and your relationship with him in such a tender and loving way, doing great honor to him. It's a rich and beautiful piece.
Yes I cried again because it brought back a memory of a fishing rod sliding from where it was propped up and the hook going in someone’s temple. Was it my baby brother who died of cancer within 2 weeks and 2 days or was it a friend of his or my other brother. Can’t remember now. We currently have a close friend fighting cancer who loves fishing and takes so many people fishing in the creek. He loves teaching kids how to fish. We asked to go visit him today but his wife said he is exhausted from so much company. His adult sons are here and there is a nice pond in their backyard so hopefully one of his boys will catch a fish today. He loves to brag on them.
I love this so much. It's a perfect way to tell this story. I've been on every side of the step-kin dynamic and it's so refreshing to read a piece that captures the complexity of those family relationships.
As the big sister who only just found you recently, may I say — I’m in awe of and deeply moved by your ability to tell a story so layered, so achy and sad and strong and beautiful with the perfect dashes of poignant humor, it makes me feel like I’ve known you forever.
I’m sorry you lost him, brother. But I’d bet cash money you hooked more than his forehead. Sending a big sister bear hug 🤍
A gorgeous piece, Paul. This essay beautifully illustrates how much of our memories are about stories, but also how we are all so much more than stories. I'm sorry for your loss.
Love the experimentation with form here - it really works. I also hooked my mother with a fishing lure - I was 9, not drunk, but never went fishing again (nor really ate fish). She has dementia now and no longer remembers, but I will.
Substack: This is why.
Paul,
I learn so much from you. Today it wasn't just the story behind the situation (as it always is), but also about structure. About drafts and revision. About time. About perspective. About maturity and growth.
Honestly, when I get down about my own writing (which is daily), I often wonder what kinds of messes the best writers go through in their drafts - what those attempts look like, in real time - before I get to read that polished power.
And you gave me that glimpse today. Maybe it means little, except I want you to know that it is a relief to me, and maybe to other writers who feel invisible. It's a relief to know that every great essay or story goes through its own growth spurt, and that means my shitty writing still has some value in it somewhere, if only I keep chiseling it.
Awe, this is so sweet. I like the story. And oddly, even though I got a little confused, the point did come out. Your love for him. He’s not lost in any of it. The people are the point. The words and details around it are just your way of saying, let me tell you a little story that will SHOW you the way I love this person. And I honestly will say I was absorbed at the first paragraph. It read like someone was talking to me, and I wanted to keep flowing in that simple style. I like simple. I rhapsodize. I want to read someone’s kind voice telling me something true and pure. It’s a story about fishing—a simple and calm past time that is a bonding experience. And this goes a bit sideways, and we get to see how the stepdad handled it. He handled it like a man. With love and understanding. And for just that alone, I love that man. Because of you. Someone I never even met. Nice work. I like it
Fantastically told, Paul. This speaks to so much—the layering and meanings of love, of memory, of family, of strength, of story.
This is so lovely. It reminds me of those hours spent sitting around my father’s bed with my brothers telling stories and the discoveries that came from those stories.
I’m so sorry, Paul. I’m just sitting here sobbing. I know it’s what happens, but god it just hurts like hell. Thank you for sharing him with us. The Christmas plumbing story is everything you’d ever need to know about anyone, but the fishing lure in his forehead, and the effort not to make you feel bad about it at 14 just ripped my heart out. Sending you my deepest condolences, friend. To you, your mom, Jenn, and your whole family. May all the memories be a blessing.
<3 <3 <3
Thank you for this glimpse into your writing process. There’s so much to unpack and draw inspiration from.
This struck me deeply, thank you, Paul. Makes me think of my beloved stepdad, also gone, to whom I owe so much. You've really captured your stepdad and your relationship with him in such a tender and loving way, doing great honor to him. It's a rich and beautiful piece.
This is simply beautiful. Thank you
Yes I cried again because it brought back a memory of a fishing rod sliding from where it was propped up and the hook going in someone’s temple. Was it my baby brother who died of cancer within 2 weeks and 2 days or was it a friend of his or my other brother. Can’t remember now. We currently have a close friend fighting cancer who loves fishing and takes so many people fishing in the creek. He loves teaching kids how to fish. We asked to go visit him today but his wife said he is exhausted from so much company. His adult sons are here and there is a nice pond in their backyard so hopefully one of his boys will catch a fish today. He loves to brag on them.
I love this so much. It's a perfect way to tell this story. I've been on every side of the step-kin dynamic and it's so refreshing to read a piece that captures the complexity of those family relationships.
Beautiful. He sounds like a really good guy. May you be comforted and flooded with memories of him. Wishing you ease and peace.
That was beautifully written and absolutely catches the recursive feeling of memory, time, and familial relationships. Thank you.