Wednesday, June 27, 2012


My sister told me that blackeyed susans were my dad's favorite flower - I think about him when I see them.  My mother told me that my dad thought that chewing potato chips was unbearably noisy - I think about him when I eat them.  My brother plays guitar - just like my dad did.

My dad died when I was little.  I remember flashes of him here and there.  I remember how he taught me to ski - riding up the big mountain on a tow rope.  (It was a hill.  I was small - it seemed much larger at the time.)  A picnic we went on - all of us kids crammed in the back seat of the car.  Learning to play chess - it was so complicated! (I was 5.)  Standing at the top of the stairs watching mother talk to the State Trooper the day he died.  It was a Saturday.

But mostly, I know about him through how we all turned out as adults.  Even though he wasn't around, my mother kept his memory alive for us.  We all have a bit of him in us.

Me? I make lists - just like him.  And just like him, a lot of stuff on the lists never gets done.

Miss you, Dad.

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