My dad passed away two years ago today. I remember every detail of his last
days. Every hour. Everything. But I have 34 years of even better memories.
Better things to focus on.
One was Red. One was Green. One said Stop on the toe. The other said Go. I
wanted them, and he bought them. And if I could find them in my size today,
I'd wear them.
2.) He always had a quarter in his pocket, and he never failed to let me get
something out of those machines that you see in every convenience store.
and that was the best. 4.) He liked my train set more than I did. 5.) He liked guns even better, and he wanted me to be just as good a shot as
he was. Once when I was a teenager he said, "I don't think you could hit the
broad side of that barn." He was right. But it was partly his fault - he let
me shoot an automatic pistol once when I was really small. It had multiple
rounds of ammo, and I shot multiple times. Multiple. And it scared him more
than it did me. And that's what messed up my aim. 6.) Once we built a model airplane. We worked for hours and hours. Months
and months. The big day came to fly it. He went first, and crashed it into
pieces. He loved it. I was upset, and all he said was "We'll build another
one." 7.) He taught me how to change the oil in my car. 8.) We watched cartoons every Saturday morning. Bugs Bunny and the
Roadrunner were his favorite. 9.) He taught me how to weld. 10.) But I never really mastered his power to fix the lawn mower. 11.) He always thought I drove too fast. Maybe I did. 12.) And he thought it was really important that I keep my Texas driver's
license. I've still got it. 13.) He didn't want me to go off to college. But he let me go. And every
time I talked to him on the phone, he never failed to say "I love you."
Never. I love him back.