As I stood at the graves of my parents this weekend, many thoughts went through my head. As all families, we had our issues, which made us eligible for being dysfunctional. But as I stood there, I could only be grateful for my own life and the lives of my two brothers, who were in town with me.
The weekend in my hometown began with a reception, letting everyone get a glimpse of the art exhibit of one brothers' collection of what is called "outside art.” The collection of art done by “outsiders," mental patients, homeless, and people who were judged to be just that.
My brother's art collection is valued to be at least 1M and will be on display in our hometown, Pueblo, Colo., and then onto Chicago, early next year. This brother lives in Philadelphia and has his own museum, Bethany Museum, if you want to check it out. He is a twin, and our other brother, is a poet, having published at least one book of poems and one play.
As I traveled with them over the weekend which was also their 60th class reunion and their birthdays, my gratitude continued to grow for our parents. I closed out the weekend by taking my wife to the Church were I was baptized some 79 years ago. So, as I stood at my parents gravesite, having experienced the results of those they brought into to world and that included me. As I closed my prayer to God for my parents, I realized they had raised a Prince, a Poet and last but not least a Pauper.