I can so easily recall sweaty summer evenings, the backs of my legs sticking to the kitchen chair as Id hurry through my dinner salad, perfectly over soaked with Wishbone Italian, & hastily wielding my fork, I’d stab at the chicken, overdressed in its brownish coat of Shake n Bake and be absolutely DYING TO GET BACK OUTSIDE ~ On hot, humid summer nights, I often think of my dad. He’d be at the supper table, clearly exhausted and sun baked from painting a stranger’s house all day (the life of a high school teacher) & Id pester him… Nonstop, until he promised to hit grounders & high flies to me in the back yard – I was merciless in my request and he always came through. Deep down, I knew he’d rather be inside having a cup of Sanka with my mother (I loved watching the tiny white saccharin tablets fizz before they disappeared with the swirl of a spoon), but I didn’t care. I was 10 or 11 and he was my dad and I’d been waiting all day for him to get home, too. I loved my father, understood him even when I wasn’t sure why… He’s been gone 3 years today and today, the air was thick with angels. I crossed paths with many beautiful people today, and their wings, I’m sure, were cleverly folded in their purses, or tucked beneath their polo shirts… but I noticed them, anyway.
Posted on: Fri, 11 Jul 2014 00:25:57 +0000
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