George Dinsmore Jr. November 5, 1931-August 13, 2024

Before I read the poem, I want to say a few words about my dad.

One day, near the end of his life, my dad was insistent on telling me a story; …  a story that he had told me many times before. It was an old memory of his own dad: He said, “Can you imagine? My dad had a spot picked out to build a house overlooking Cobbetts Pond. So, he just went out and started to build it. He dug the whole basement by hand, with just a shovel.” You could tell he was really impressed by the prowess and fortitude of his own Dad.

Well, when you are digging by hand, you have lots of time to think and plan. “So, my grandfather decided to build his home of stone rather than of wood.” He had never built a house of stone before; but that didn’t matter to him…… He just started gathering field-stone until it stood in big piles on his property. He then began laying up the stone and soon the dream that had formed in his mind, became a reality. That was the home my father grew up in.

I think the point of that story, is that it reflected my dad’s outlook on life. If you have a job or a dream, you just start pursuing it. It doesn’t matter whether you have the experience or knowledge, or not. You just start………….you just start digging, gathering and sweating. You just figure it out as you go. Soon the thing that is only a vision in your mind, becomes a physical reality staring you straight in the face.

 The point was to just start…to just try!

My grandfather, was always quick witted, and used to say sarcastically about my father: His Name is George Dinsmore, Junior. The JR stands for Just Retired! Which was ironic since my dad never really retired and ended up being one of the hardest working men I have ever known. 

The relationship between fathers and sons is often fraught with conflicting feelings and emotions. Many of us have contentious relationships with our fathers. When they are gone, its not the sadness that is so hard, but rather the deep sense of emptiness, that can never be filled by another person. They are like a fortress that has surrounded you, for good and bad, your entire life.

Recently, my Dad was in a really animated mood and told me with a smile on his face; “My father has come and is sitting in the room with me.” I asked, “Did he say anything? What’s he doing?  “No. he is just sitting over there waiting on me.”  You can say it was the drugs or fading consciousness that brought about the presence of my dad’s dad. However, I will always believe, that my grandfather came to help lead his son home.   

Happy Sailing Dad!