A Father’s Day Dream
My dad, is a short man who lives in Florida; he’s in failing health. He’s the toughest, smartest, hardest working man I know. Last night I dreamed dad died. In the dream, I was there.
I woke boiling with emotion. Emotions don’t know truth from fiction. I’ve been thinking about him since. I haven’t spent much time with dad since I was 18 when I left the farm in Maine for college in Missouri. I never looked back.
Even though I haven’t spent time with him, he lives in me.
I saw him in my unexpected positive attitude and determination after my nearly fatal accident. I said to my wife Dale, “I didn’t realize I was like my dad in this way.” In my toughest hours, I saw him there. It felt good.
I can still hear him reading some new idea while we ate breakfast. He’s in thousands of books that line my library.
He was involved in our community, back home. He was an elected official and a member of the volunteer fire department. I was elected to a local office, too.
He cares for mom like a goddess. He was always hugging and kissing her, I don’t mean little pecks. I can still see their bodies molding together when he came in from milking cows. Today, in our home, Dale and I have a saying, “Never waste a kiss.” If you’re going to do it, do it. Little pecks are ridiculous.
On the farm, life was work. He rose early and worked late. I still observe the farm clock.
Dad led himself and in so doing he led me. He never told me to follow his example and frankly, I never really thought about being like him. It just happened.
Sooner or later, last night’s dream will be true. I’m thankful that part of who I am is who he is.