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.