Well It's Been Ten Years Or Maybe More...

I tried to sneak past this one, but it jumped up and bit me just the same. November's just not as easy as October yet. I had a lot of synergy pointing me at my father's memory in the past week, with a pair of trips past the airport in Oakland, where I had my last bear hug from the man who gave me my hairline. A lot of people will tell you that you get your receding hairline from your mother's side of the family. I'm here to tell you that's a lot of hooey.
Aside from the vast expanse of scalp that I have grown into, my father gave me an endless array of truly horrible jokes. I would like to confess that I have done nothing but add to that repertoire over the years, but some of my best knee-jerk responses came from my old man (emphasis on the "jerk"). I know that I learned the value of a hard day's work from him as well. He was the guy who chopped wood by the light of a Coleman lantern before we were old or crazy enough to do it.
I don't miss him so much as I miss the idea of him. I've got his smile in my head and a series of snapshots that give me scrapbook memories. That's not the whole, it's just a piece. Just like this date in November that snuck up on me while I was busy doing all my other dad and teacher and husband and citizen duties. It's a signpost up ahead. It's the Twilight Zone. It's the abyss and it's heaven and it's hell and it's another day. Today my father is more notably missing from my life. Today it feels like a horrible cheat that my son doesn't know the man that shares his name. He knows of him, and if I have my way, he'll get sick of hearing about him.
That's what I do. I'll wallow for a few more hours, then listen to Steve Goodman sing "My Old Man," and head on into the next day. And I'll remember then, too.