« Dreams | Main | 17 - Our Worst Enemies »

Letter From America: Symphony In F

In a fecund symphony of Fs is a ph fair play?

Read Ronnie Bray's fortitudinous flight of fancy involving the sixth letter of the alphabet.

For more of Ronnie's fine columns please click on Letter From America in the menu on this page.

Feeling footloose and frisky, a featherbrained fellow forced his father to fork over his futurely forthcoming farthings. His fortune furnished by his forlorn father, fast and furiously he flew from familiar fertile furrowed fields to foray in foreign fallow free ranges. Foolishly he frittered his fragment of the family's fiscal fortune, feasting fabulously with free-and-easy fawningly friendly, if flawed, floozies and faithless friends.

Flooded with frissons of flattery, he financed a fully-fledged fling of funny foam and fast food. Fleeced by his fellows in folly, facing famine, and feeling faintly fuzzy, he found himself a feed-flinger in a filthy foreign farmyard. Finding his faculties famished and feverish, he fain filled his frail frame with filched fragments of foul, nay, foetid, fodder he fed to farrowed pigs.

"Phooey!" he fumed, fanning his fingers on finding corn husk fragments fixed firmly in his front fangs. "My father's flunkies fare far fancier!" The frazzled fugitive feverishly faced the facts of his waking phantasm. Frustrated from failure, filled with foreboding, he forlornly followed his finer feelings and finally fled as fast as his flailing feet could furnish flight from the filthy foreign farmyard.

Faraway, feeling fretful and full of failure, his feeble father focused fondly on the faintly familiar form in the far field and flew to his restored son, the object of his filial affection, and fondly flung his fragile forearms around the fatigued fugitive.

Falling at his father's feet, the fugitive floundered forlornly, "Father, I have flunked and fruitlessly forfeited family favour in shekels and francs, and I feel to petition your forgiveness! Find me foraging work and I will forever fend off your foes and friendless foragers, and find you a fine fellow, even if, forfend, you find me no further fit to be called your son."

Finally, the phrenetic but faithful Father, forbidding and forestalling further flinching, frantically flagged the flunkies to fetch forth the finest fatling and fix an effervescent feast. The father fixed the finest fabric fanon-like across the frame of the unfrugal fellow, fondled his frayed hair, and on his foredigit fixed his seal.

Meanwhile, the father's faithful first-born who had not fled to frolic with floozies and fast friends was fully occupied fetlock deep in ferns in the fields on the forestís fringe fixing fences, even as father and fugitive were feeling festive. The foreman felt fantastic as he flashed the fortunate news of a familiar family face that had formerly forsaken fatal foolishness but who now fled fulsomely back to the fold. The first-born let fixings and hammer fall to the floor and fast-paced drew on the farmhouse, following the flavours of fine festive fare with flared nares, fists flailing as he fronted a fight for familial philanthropy.

Forty-four feet from the farmhouse the first-born found a farmhand fixing a fatling and frying fish on a fire of former floorboards. Frowning ferociously as faultfinders do, he fumed at his fawning father, "Floozies and foam have frittered family funds and you fix a feast following the fugitive's female folderols!

He flexed his face into a physiognomy foretelling fearful fortune. Fiercely he demanded, "Am I a foundling or your first-born?" Father faced the phenomenon as pharaoh faced the faithful follower of the Foremost, fidgeting his feet like a fowl on a furnace. Father fastened his resolve and stood firm, his philanthropy fixed by the physics of fatherhood, the very fountain of faith, through whose forbidding foramen flows the unfailing fruit of fellowship and fair play. "Am I a Pharisee?" he asked his son, "Or am I your father who shall fill full each font as I feel fit, and not be forced as a man not free to fill the flute of whatever flautist pipes?

The first-born's fury flashed like a feudal felling-axe fast falling through fathoms of Fahrenheit-filled sunshine, his face fluorescent with furore. But further fussing was futile, his fervour flagged like fog at midday and flew.

In fulminating fortissimo fashion, he faulted the father for failing to furnish a fatling and feast for his friends, and flayed his fatherís focus on forgiveness. His folly that fateful Friday was not in feeling fit for feast and fatling and failing to finagle same for his favourite familiars, rather his flaw was his feelings about the fairness of the festival for the fraternal fasting fugitive, his filial fellow, and his fate.

Although the frugal first-born felt it fitting for him to be to be fully favoured for faithfulness and fidelity to family, father, and farm, rather than his foolhardy and failed fellow family member, he foresaw his funeral if he fostered frenzy and frowardly fanned flames of fire against his fatherís final profession of his fate.

His fundamental fallacy was a fixation on favouritism rather than on forgiveness. Focussing on feeling oneís fellows have found unfair favour foully festers, and the friction following forces the faded facade of the foolish to fecklessly fall, however fabulously built. As it falls it reveals the full feelings of the fellow feeling less favoured.

Frankly, the father felt the first-born's frugality of forgiveness was formidable, frigid, and frightful, and fought back the feeling to flagellate the fellow with a floorboard. But the father's faithful fortitude and fearless forbearance to forgive both the former fetishist fugitive, and also his affected first-born, flourished in the face of the firstbornís fatalism.

The farsighted father figured, "Such fidelity is fine, but what forbids fervent festivity for the fugitive that is found? Unfurl the flags and finery, let fun, frolic, and festivity freely flow. Former failure is forgotten, funk is abandoned, and folly is forsaken. Forgiveness forms the foundation for future fortune of all our family. Freely have I fended for you, freely do I love you, and freely I forgive your foibles, so freely forgive each others follies if you would be my sons and follow me."

Four facets of the father's fathomless fondness for faltering fugitives are forgiveness, forever-faithful friendship, fadeless love, and the facility for fully forgetting flaws. Fathers from France to Finland form a forum of never-failing felicity for their families. Fathers are fortresses of love and acceptance, the very fastnesses where the Heavenly Fatherís finest gifts are reposed, all freely bestowed on each whether never faithless, or repentant sinner. Fatherís are the fording places of the fast flowing rivers of life that would overwhelm their young. As wise as foxes, harmless as feathered doves, watchful for failure, fending off flops, flounders, and shortfalls, fathers feel the full weight of their vocations.

Fortuitous and felicitous, indeed, is a fatherís full and free forgiveness. A Fatherís fondness for his fledglings is unfailing, whether faithful or unfaithful, and we must thank our Father in Heaven that this is so, or else where will we find favour and feel full and frank forgiveness when we finally meet the Father of fathers?

Copyright (C) Ronnie Bray

Other stories at:


Creative Commons License
This website is licensed under a Creative Commons License.