a transplanted life in China 

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Kenneth Eugene Jones, 1926 – 2012

 1958   When my brother Kenton called me with the news of our father’s death, I got a falling feeling, as when a chasm opens below you and you don’t know what to hold on to or how to save yourself from annihilation. My father was 85; he had cancer, and heart and lung trouble.  He had suffered a horrible fall a few weeks earlier. He had been moved to the Alzheimer’s ward of the assisted-care center he had recently moved into.  I’d had a sinking feeling for several days: last week I’d dreamt that he and I visited a funeral home together.  No matter how prepared you feel, you never really are. My father and I had never been close.  There was a world of unspoken emotion and life experience between us.  Many things contributed to this – our parents’ push-pull relationship when we were children, my feelings of somehow being a disappointment to him, my being gay, my father’s strict fundamentalist religious beliefs, and both of our inability to let others get close to us emotionally. As a young child, I both loved and feared him. I sat at his feet and watched him get ready for work in the morning.  I was devastated if he left home and drove away without waving goodbye to me. His wish for me to excel in things I couldn’t – sports and math – went unfulfilled.  He could be a rage-aholic at times.  When my parents grew further apart during my



Huanhuaxi Park / re-C art space

Published on February 4, 2012, by in Chengdu.

tulips outside Dufu’s Cottage entrance     Huanhuaxi Park     statue     cafe, re-C art space Tweet This Post