Remembering You

Dear Dad,

Yesterday, as I watched my friend walk down the aisle with her father, I thought of you. I thought of your absence and of the life you lived.

I remember your hands. They were big and smelled of old tabacco. Your eyes were a gray blue and your skin was always tanned. You grew thin and frail in your final years but I can remember you strong, in your power suit, worn out from a day at the office. I can see you now, washing the cars in the driveway on a Sunday afternoon, getting up at 4am for quiet time with the morning paper and a cup of black coffee and then years later, walking with your cane to the bus stop when the blindness took hold. You liked plain, old fashioned donuts, football and pork rinds, putzing around the garage, and Frank Sinatra. You taught me how to dance on your toes. When someone would crank call us, you were fond of saying, "Stick it in your ear buddy!" as if that was some perfect comeback line. Your deep voice was more imposing than your stature and your sense of humor was bigger than both. You were not a man of many words but you always told me I am beautiful.

I remember you, Dad. I remember you strong.

I love you and miss you.

Happy Father's Day.