Monday, July 27, 2009

Hey Dad

I don't think there is a stronger longing for me this week than the longing of my father. I can still remember the last time I hugged him: on my tip toes pulling his thick neck down so I could wrap my arms around him. I held his cheek tightly to mine, registering the stub of his beard and his Old Spice smell. I hugged him so tightly he had to pry my arms loose so he could clear his throat.

Dad was the American Dream. His cowboy boots and flannel shirts, his planted trees and broken dreams. (that just sounded like a line from a country song didn't it?)
Once mom had a teachers' conference in Southeast Oklahoma, in a lodge in between the mountains. Dad and us would spend our time window shopping at flea markets and ordering hamburgers from country stands off of dirt roads. One day we took a drive into the hills. Dad taught us to drive his Oldsmobile there. At the ripe age of 8 and 9 Bryan and I were taught the driving-takeover drill. His reasoning was that one day he might suffer from a heart attack while driving. He was teaching us to be little heroes.
When I was walking to my carpool this morning these little memories fluttered in my brain and my heart began to ache. What would my life be like if I could call him on these crisp Jerusalem mornings and we could share a little dry humour? He could pressure me about wanting grandkids and I could avoid the topic, instead, sharing a little tidbit on German idealism and name drop philosophers into his stubborn ears.


At 7/27/2009 6:53 PM, Blogger onlyhuman79 said...

I love the family memories! so dear & my dad taught me to drive before i as 10 too! must be an Okie thing!! haha


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