A Retro Blog While I Remain BICHOK--Remembering Why I Started

I wrote this blog November 17, 2008--it was my Dad's birthday. I wonder what he'd say to me if he knew how far I've come as a writer and person as I pursue this career. 

Today is my dad's birthday. He would have turned 81 today had he not passed away 6 years ago. Losing dad was tough as he was the only parent I had who truly loved me. And he influenced me tremendously. From him I developed a love of reading--he was my library connection. When I exhausted all the books at our small town's library, I raided his bookshelves and found The Hobbit (4th grade), John Steinback and more. From him I learned to be curious and creative and focused on the task at hand.

When I was a child I wanted to be many things: a vet, a movie star (what self respecting girl wouldn't want fame???), and a journalist. I always wrote. Journals, poems, fantasy stories and more. I was fated to write. Yet, due to the "other parent" my life took many strange turns. As one fellow writer said to me, "life hijacked me."

Big time.

I was on my own at 16, working as a waitress, and a highschool drop out. Writing for a living was not an option although I never stopped dreaming.

Fast forward to 2002. Married, college educated, a mother, a friend, and still a dreamer. Dad was very ill. My husband, daughter and I traveled North to see him one more time. During that visit, he needed closure. A way to say goodbye and a way to say he was sorry. Part of that regret was due to his failure to protect me from an abusive parent. A parent who didn't want me to succeed, who wanted me to lose my zest for life, who wanted to derail every dream I had as impossible.

I'll never forget when he turned to me, regret in his eyes, and said it was "too late for me to be a writer." At the time, I believed him. I had laid my dream to rest and was pursuing the idea of becoming a personal life coach. Heck, I am an enthusiastic person and I've encouraged so many people in achieving their dreams, I figured why not get paid for it? I absolved him of his own guilt and said it was okay. I was okay. And I really was doing great.

But the dream that had been dormant resurrected on that day. And a few months later, I trotted out an old half started manuscript, and I finished it! I sent it off in a query and fantastically, got a request. No. The story doesn't end with a published novel. No. The first book I wrote is not that great and will never be published. However, it will never be forgotten. It is the first book I wrote. I proved to myself it was not too late for me to write. And since that first book churned out of me, I have written two other books.

On Dad's birthday, I wish I could say to him that it's not too late. That I am a writer. And I will, with a lot of luck and hard work, be published one day.

And here I am working hard and still pushing for the dream to become a reality. It's not too late. Ever.

Never give up. Never surrender!!

Retro Blog--Happy Birthday to My Dad

Yesterday was my dad's birthday. He passed away in 2002 after a battle against cholesterol disease which stripped his body of good veins and weakened his heart. He had a joie de vivre that I believe he passed on to my brother and me. I remember his attitude about life. Enjoy it!

Here is the blog I wrote about my dad on his birthday a year ago.

I hope you enjoy reading it again.

Cheers Dad!  May your glass always be full and may your paintings inspire the angels.

Birthday Wishes and Memories of My Dad

My dad, Robert Alexander Doorenbos, was born in Alexandria, Egypt November 17, 1928. He passed away August 20, 2002 in Winnipeg, Canada. It's been a little over 8 years since he died, but I still miss him. He wasn't a perfect man, nor a perfect father, but he was a good man who loved me. He loved my husband, and he loved my daughter. There are days when I think to myself, wow, I wish Dad was here because he'd really enjoy this movie, this book, this drive, this scenery, this weather, this meal, this celebration.

I haven't written too much about him because how do I encapsulate his life? I missed a lot of years from the time I was 16 until I married at 22. Those years were lost for many reasons. Reasons that I don't discuss publicly. Suffice to say that he contributed to the reasons as much, if not more, than I did. I understand why and I have forgiven him, too. And in the forgiveness, I bought back a lot of years. Years filled with good memories, fellowship, love. Years where I shared my grown up life with him. Years where he became a friend, a father-in-law, an Opa.

One paragraph in my dad's memoir, written in 1991, describes his personality really well. He'd just been released from a Japanese concentration camp and was finally able to reunite with his mother and sister. He'd been in an all male camp for quite some time and in Camp 7. He wrote:

Back in Camp 7 it was not as crowded as when I arrived a few months earlier. Approximately 800 men and 110 boys had died in those six months. Rations had been so poor that diabetics did not need their insulin and they could not get it anyway. I went to see mother and Hetty in Camp 6, four miles away, a long walk. That night, on my way back, I got a lift in a truck with Japanese soldiers. Standing between them was a weird experience. All I owned in the world was shorts and a shirt, both tattered. My head been shaven at one time and grew back in irregular patches due to malnutrition. I weighed maybe 90 pounds and was covered with infected sores as every scratch festered. My arms and legs were wrapped in old dirty bandages which made me look like something pulled out of an Egyptian tomb. I must have been an awful sight and mother fainted when she saw me. It did not bother me too much. I felt fine after a week of adequate rations and had not looked in the mirror for six months.


I guess you could say I get my ability to find the silly in the serious from my Dad.

So now, as a memorial to him, I'd like to share my impressions of Dad's life based on how we authors tag/brand ourselves. Here are some words that I believe best describe my Dad.

Robert Alexander Doorenbos.

Survivor, artist, calligrapher, painter, cross country skier, adventurer, bibliophile, intellectual, engineer, architect, explorer, traveler, photographer, writer, cook, baker, Mason, toastmaster, cat lover, loner, humble, curious, generous, gifted, husband, brother, son, uncle, father, father-in-law, friend, Opa, man

I miss my dad. I miss our talks, our trips to the museums, and our mutual curiosity about life. Most of all I miss all the memories I still want to make with him.

Happy Birthday Dad. May your room in Heaven have an easel, a map, and a walking stick.