A Trip Down Memory Lane

I have a brown wooden box in my basement that holds the mementos of my dad's life: everything from family history journals to old cards and notes we gave him and even a Father's Day art project I made in elementary school. It's crazy that the sum total of important "possessions" can fit inside a small wooden box. Although I hate to think of the circumstances surrounding his death, his state of being the last few years of his life, and the way it negatively impacted our relationship, I choose today to look back at the dad I remember without the haze of drug addiction. I choose to remember the dad who saw things clearly, who loved his children, who bought us Winchell's donuts every Saturday morning, who took us camping, who floated us down the river, who danced around the living room singing Rod Stewart, who took me to the Tina Turner concert and belted out "Better Be Good To Me," who loved to go to 7-Eleven and buy a donut and a drink and take a drive, who took us to the REO Speedwagon and Fleetwood Mac concert, who taught me every song in the classic rock songbook, who sang "Cecelia" with us driving in the 4-Runner home from Riverside. I choose to remember the dad who taught me how to golf, who gave great hugs and encouragement, who rarely missed my tennis matches (regardless of where they were). I choose to remember the dad who drove us all across the country in our Winnebago, who took us to Hawaii, who shoveled anyone's driveway in the winter, who took impeccable pride in his yard (now you know where I get it), who knew how to get anywhere. I have him to thank for my navigational prowess. I choose to remember the dad that visits me in my dreams looking healthy and happy. The way I want to remember him. I look forward to the day when we meet again, and I can look into the eyes of the man I remember below. I love you Dad!