My dad cleaned out an old drawer this week. He has never been too attached to things but has carefully chosen which ones to preserve. Bullets that almost hit him, photographs and slides, rocks that look like dinosaur eggs and other fragments of a colorful 57 years. He has a Jimmy Buffet tote bag in there. A Ratt t-shirt. Photographs of he and his father's last trip to the horse races before he passed. The hospital gown he wore with my newborn foot prints on the pocket. A blue shirt that is now in my possession that he was wearing in one of the only surviving portraits from he and my mother's marriage. He said it was all hard to look at. To me, it was a candy store because how similar our tastes are and i really could have smelled the drawer forever. I mean that.
I fell in love with my father a little later in life than i had wanted to. It just took time. For both of us.
Now I see how my brothers and I are all pieces of him and so much like him. In word and deed and preference and appearance. These days when we are together i never wanna leave and i wish i could spend every day with him. Sometimes i hope for the big global fallout and we can all just go live on the farm together. It's been a fantasy of mine since i was little. This morning he woke up early and went to church in his suit and heard a message about change. He got back and we walked around the yard smoking cigarettes and looking at the compost pile and the year's first flowers. He knows so much about so much.
When Lyric and I went to pick up donuts we were blasting Stevie Wonder. She says the only reason i know all the words is because i 'come from the old days.' Then we talked about the origin of language. She's growing up and i'm having to grow up with her. It's a really intense and some days tragic feeling to be 31 years old and torn between wanting to be my father's child and be my child's father. To get to do both is a gift though and I receive it. I hope a long, long time passes before I look through that drawer again.