Guest Writer Series part 2
Inspiration; For an athlete, it’s finding a way to use another’s example to better oneself, to dig deeper, to excel because of what others have done before. For an artist, it’s discovering the unseen, the unknown, the hidden and creating something new. The same word applies for both...in some ways the words mean different things, but in many ways, it means exactly the same.
Inspiration is something supposedly that was always there, but invisible until acted upon.
Since I’m no longer an athlete (it’s debatable that I ever was), I seek inspiration in artistic endeavors, writing, photography, performing. Sitting in front of a keyboard waiting for the muse to descend from on high, taking a walk to see if the light will cooperate and when it does knowing when to click the shutter. But, inspiration comes from other sources as well.
For me, it comes in the form of my father.
Scott Taylors father and his Uncles. Scott says “all came home, all are gone now.”
As I grow older, the respect for the man I called “Dad” increases. I look at my own life and compare it to his. It’s an unfair comparison, really. It would take several lifetimes of experiences for me to come close to his. I am, in a word, a rookie when it comes to challenges, accomplishments, overall awesomeness.
My father was born in 1924. If you’re familiar with the first half of the twentieth century in America you know that a child born in the 1920s will face a world of incredible advancements and overwhelming hardships. In a few years the country would plunge into a Great Depression, followed by another world war. My father experienced both in an intimately personal way.
My father had eleven siblings, he being number nine. Before he turned five years old The Great Depression hit leaving a poor farmer family in Idaho to struggle for survival. It was in his youth my father learned to shoot and shoot well. I recall a story from a cousin that said he and my father were out in the fields when they spotted two geese flying high overhead. He said my father--a teenager at the time--spotted the birds, tracked them with his rifle, and shot. One fell. It served as the family’s dinner that night. It brought home the fact that my father had to be a good shot or they didn’t eat. At no time ever in my life have I depended on such skills to feed myself or my family.
photo credit- Scott Taylor
Only a few years later my father found himself in Europe as part of a B-17 bomber group during World War II. Because of his shooting skills, he was place in the back of the plane as a tail gunner...the most dangerous position on the team. I was told by a veteran who knew much more than me of such things, that the life expectancy of a tail gunner when engaged by German fighter planes was five minutes. Those speedy enemy aircraft would fly directly behind the big slow lumbering B-17s and shoot up everything, especially the tail gunner position.
Like The Great Depression, my father survived the war. He was one of four siblings who served and returned from that terrible war. He came home and became a police officer. Eventually he met and married my mother and attended Utah State University where he earned his four-year engineering degree in only three years.
When my parents were unable to have children of their own, they adopted three children, me being the middle child. With a larger family, my parents purchased land in Farmington, Utah and my dad began building a house. And when I say “build” I mean he built it. He poured the footings. He framed it. He bricked it. He built and installed the heating ducts. He wired the home. He install all the plumbing. He even built the home’s television set. He did it all.
The only thing it seemed he could not overcome was cancer.
My father passed away nine months shy of his fiftieth birthday, leaving a widow and three children under eleven years old. I grew up knowing more of the man than the man himself.
Scott will regulary share pictures from his daily life, this is one he captioned “Do not Push, No Empuje”
Six years ago, I surpassed my father in days on this earth. As I’ve grown, married, and had a family of my own, my father’s life inspires me...the way he provided for his siblings as a young man, the way he put his life on the line to protect others in the war and as a police officer, the way he studied hard in school and provided for his family. And the longer I live, the more impressed and inspired by his example.
As stated earlier, inspiration can come from a living person who inspires by example. Inspiration can also come from someplace else, someplace unseen that manifests to the recipient as if from above. For me, the inspiration I feel from my father is both. Though no longer with us, his example will always be an inspiration. And with him gone, sometimes I sense his presence.
There are times, when creating, I search for help. I seek out the next step, the next chapter of the story. In life I find myself searching for help for that next chapter. I am thankful I can look to a man I find so inspiring. I can also feel that help from the unseen, from beyond.
“Moon Over Standard Plumbing Supply Company”- Scott Taylor
Scott is a skilled writer who is one of the sources of inspiration for this blog. if you enjoyed this post, check out his blog at https://scottywattydoodlealltheday.blogspot.com/ or you can read one of his books “Speckled” by clicking the “shop now” Link below
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