Has It Really Been Seven Years?

Happy Birthday, Pop.

I’m thinking about you today.

I wish you were here to go to a thrift store or get a doughnut.

Maybe we could even sit in the garage and listen to music while you tell me a story about Caruso.

Or we could share some See’s and talk about your mom and dad.

Then we could pull out the graph paper and draw our dream houses or chart the year’s best horses.

Later in the day, you could call me and pretend to be a serious government employee, needing information only I can provide.

Your name would be something like Petunia Snardfarter.  Or maybe that would be me.

Do you remember that time we were turning into the parking lot of the Amvets store on Broadway around 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday?  A six-foot-something man (?) dressed in drag with great long fishnet-stockinged legs crossed in front of the car and wagged his tongue suggestively, right in your direction.  I think he wanted to get to know you better.  Do you remember?

Or how about the time I walked a few paces ahead of you one evening as we were leaving the Tower Records on El Cajon?  A couple of twenty-something punks started hitting on me in the parking lot.  You grumbled something to dissuade their bad behavior, so they asked if you were my granddad and you replied that you were my husband.  I think I turned four shades of red, but they turned six, so it was fine.  Do you remember that?

I remember all of it.  And more.

It all still makes me chuckle.

You were such a good dad.

You always made me laugh.

I miss our friendship.

I really do.

Happy Birthday, Pop.

I hope those other angels bake you some devil’s food today.  🙂

With white frosting.

♥♥

9 thoughts on “Has It Really Been Seven Years?

  1. This is so sweet. Sad, but not, if you know what I mean. I never knew your Dad well & yet I feel I know a lot about him from loving his son. For instance, ” If a joke is funny to you, it’s funny enough.” (not something I always agree with, though I like the spirit of it.) I also have heard about the squeezy snakes & how he made a obstacle course with sofa pillows to outwit them. In some ways he reminds me of my Dad – playful, opinionated, a collector. I spent my childhood at swap meets while my Dad searched out old cameras and other obscure stuff. Now that I think of it, those qualities are present in another man I know. Hmmm.

  2. Ah! John Harris. How could he ever have devoted time to the Capewell’s? Who are the cotton-pickin’ Capewell’s? Some weird family from….Cowley Way???? The only person who I sorely missed even before he was gone. He’s one of the very few people that ever made me pee my pants. It helped that Bill and Greg were there: it was in your driveway at Monongahela, night time, train, race car track, volcano erupting. I sincerely hope you were old enough to recall that night…. John and Jane taught me lessons I’m just now figuring out: even as an adult, never stop having laughing and having fun.

  3. What a wonderful relationship you and your Dad had. What a wonderful daughter to remember him with such fondness.

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