Saturday, September 22, 2007


I always remember. Everyday.
Not a day goes by that I don't think of him.
I was 12, 37 years ago today.
I remember I was new to Junior High. 7th grade. Scared to death as it was.
I was in class and the principal, Mr. McIntyre came to pull me out of class.
Our neighbor was there to pick my older brother and myself up.
Terry said nothing. We knew something was wrong.
We got home and there were cars in the drive. My mother on the couch looking dazed.
Our father had died, she said. The next 15 years would be pretty much a blur.
I usually remember this day every year. Some years hit me harder than others. Most years I hope I forget.
I recall a few days after he had died. It really hadn't hit us kids. We were sitting watching T.V. People were streaming in and out of the house. My mom never seemed to move from that spot on the couch for a week.
I recall the pastor of my grandmothers church saying to someone "It will be much harder in the years to come than it is today". I remember those words vividly. And he was right.
When I got married. When I had my son. A certain smell. A song.
My Dad was da bomb. He was the only person I've ever known to live each day as if it were his last. He told us he was going to die young. He knew it. He was 39.
As I sit here at the age of 44, I always remember the good stuff. I honestly don't recall any bad stuff when it comes to my father.
He introduced music to me. I recall getting off the bus after school, Led Zeppelin blaring on the stereo, the windows rattling. Walking in the house and him sweeping the floor, playing air guitar. Course I thought he was nuts. hahaha
He must have recognized my interest in music as I was the only one that he made sit on the floor with the Album cover to Days of Future Passed by The Moody Blues and pick out everything I could find. What I couldn't find, he would explain to me.
His music tastes varied from Classical, to Big Band to rock and roll...
My tastes are just as varied....from Blue Grass and Gospel to Heavy Metal. hahaha
My father loved life. He worked hard, loading trucks at night....and he played hard.
A life snipped short by an enlarged heart and his refusal to follow the doctors advice and slow down.
I learned alot from him. Alot of those lessons just recently coming into play as I realize mortality.
So this is my tribute to my father. Being old, or rather middle aged, what I think of most is like from that move "The 6th Sense" when all the mom wants to know from her mom is whether she makes her proud. I wish I knew...

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