My Dad and the Angels, Bowling
George Fredrick Connell 1917 - 1987
A few days ago was the 24th anniversary of my father’s passing. It takes a long time to come to terms with the loss of a cherished parent but slowly and surely the sweetest memories surface to cushion the pain and our lost one becomes part of us in a way that has nothing to do with DNA or geneology. We begin to realize that little quirk we have, that turn of phrase, that expression we get when pensive, are all a legacy of that cherished parent. And it is comforting. Several years ago I wrote a poem about something my dad used to tell me. I don’t know if someone special in his life told it to him, or if he just made it up. But I liked it enough to remember it for decades so I’ve placed it in a poem called “Angels Bowling” and perhaps it will make someone else smile. Dad was good at making people smile.
Linda Studley 
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