King of the Road
Any man can be a father. It takes someone special to be a dad.
Today marks the one-year passage in time since my Dad was here. It feels wrong saying that its anniversary, doesn't it? Anniversaries are days to be celebrated.
Then again, I suppose that today is a celebration of sorts. We will attend a mass in his honor, perhaps eat breakfast, and the pasta today will have 'Fuzzy' written all over it, but there's not a lot of celebrating. We never could match his sauce.
I had dinner yesterday with Uncle Jim. I can sympathize because I know what it's like to miss a brother too. We took to telling stories. Funny stories. Glorifying stories. Stories that make your heart hurt.
But the thing that got me about yesterday was that I was working on reports listening to my i-pod when Sinatra's Under My Skin played. I gave a nod to the photo of Dad beside my desk and continued to work. Visions of him singing were dancing in my head.
I went straight to the I-tunes store and downloaded Roger Miller's King of the Road. To be fair I hadn't thought about that song in well over 20 years, but yesterday morning, I downloaded it and listened to it.
It's still a great song.
It took me back to Largo, Florida. I was ten years old. Dad was singing it, as loud as it could go, and as loud as he could go. I remember telling him that everything was too loud and that the song was awful.
I was lying. I loved every second of it.
A year later and what we have are snippets and memories. It hardly seems fair. Yet when life is lived the right way those left behind are also left with feelings and warm thoughts of pure love.
I felt so secure at ten years old. I've felt secure in the love of my family through the age of 46.
That's a pretty special feeling. Millions who've gone before me can't claim to have felt secure, happy and loved.
And I'm trying to pass those thoughts on to my children.
So in that regard, Dad is alive and well.
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Sing away.
Today marks the one-year passage in time since my Dad was here. It feels wrong saying that its anniversary, doesn't it? Anniversaries are days to be celebrated.
Then again, I suppose that today is a celebration of sorts. We will attend a mass in his honor, perhaps eat breakfast, and the pasta today will have 'Fuzzy' written all over it, but there's not a lot of celebrating. We never could match his sauce.
I had dinner yesterday with Uncle Jim. I can sympathize because I know what it's like to miss a brother too. We took to telling stories. Funny stories. Glorifying stories. Stories that make your heart hurt.
But the thing that got me about yesterday was that I was working on reports listening to my i-pod when Sinatra's Under My Skin played. I gave a nod to the photo of Dad beside my desk and continued to work. Visions of him singing were dancing in my head.
I went straight to the I-tunes store and downloaded Roger Miller's King of the Road. To be fair I hadn't thought about that song in well over 20 years, but yesterday morning, I downloaded it and listened to it.
It's still a great song.
It took me back to Largo, Florida. I was ten years old. Dad was singing it, as loud as it could go, and as loud as he could go. I remember telling him that everything was too loud and that the song was awful.
I was lying. I loved every second of it.
A year later and what we have are snippets and memories. It hardly seems fair. Yet when life is lived the right way those left behind are also left with feelings and warm thoughts of pure love.
I felt so secure at ten years old. I've felt secure in the love of my family through the age of 46.
That's a pretty special feeling. Millions who've gone before me can't claim to have felt secure, happy and loved.
And I'm trying to pass those thoughts on to my children.
So in that regard, Dad is alive and well.
I ain't got no cigarettes.
Sing away.
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