“Bentari also knew that Tarmani would mark his trail with a sign that was known and noticeable only by his mother and him. They had made a game of it. For as long as he could remember, he had reveled in the trail following game that the three of them had shared. The elders played the apes; he played the monkey. The hours flew while the hide-and-seek ensued. Throughout it all, a very small boy rapidly grew trail worthy. Wise parents, they had prepared their son in case of unexpected separation. He would be able to find them, and they, him. Could they have known how deadly serious the game might one day be played? Perhaps the parents had the notion, but clearly the boy did not.” (From Bentari, chapter 4)

My parents weren’t famous to the world—only to almost everyone who knew them, or got to know their special qualities of caring and openness through work, play or association. After Mom and Dad died in 1994, many kind words came to my brothers and me about our folks, our benefactors and beloved teachers of life. I remember one of Dad’s Navy buddies telling me with moist eyes how, “When your dad came into a room full of people, the whole place just lit up.”

Through all these years since their too-early passing, I hold them ever nearer and I remember the things they taught me. How their knowledge is my mainstay! This shines through in the “under” tale of Bentari. He is a boy in trouble. Through no fault of his and through unthinkable misfortune, he is cast into the roil of war—and the outcome is unbelievably resting in part on his small but worthy shoulders.

Bentari shines light on loving parents in recognition for their fulfillment of a glorious responsibility.

Pictured are Jo and Clair Brown at Laurelhurst Park in Portland, Oregon. (1993)

This poem is a tribute to them both. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

The Captain and Polaris

My father is the captain, always at the helm.

He steers the ship ‘cross all the seas, through storm and gale or calm.

He guides us when he’s weak. He leads us when he’s hale . . .

O’er many a swale, past all the wrecks, or through the gates of Hell.

My father is the captain of our family’s long campaign.

His seamanship is steadfast. His devotion never wanes.

For at the helm he navigates with but one goal in sight . . .

My mother, she is Polaris, the captain’s guiding light.