Happy Father's Day to all the cool Dad's in the world.
MY FIRST FLIGHT
The little Cessna had just cleared the pattern in its climb to 1,500 feet when my father said, “OK, we can land now.” With my newly minted private pilot’s license in hand, I had wanted him to be my first non-instructor passenger. I’d planned to circle the California State University campus and come back to the university‑owned airport. I reminded him of this, and I’ll never forget what Dad said, more than 3 years ago: “I’m not fond of small planes. I just wanted you to know that I have confidence in you.”
“IS TALKING CRUCIAL?
I sat in our living room reading one night while my Dad watched television. An hour passed before I realized it, and I felt bad for not speaking during that time. I asked if he was OK, and he said yes. Then I apologized for not talking more. “Donya,” Dad replied. “Talking is like ketchup. If you like the meat enough, you don’t need the ketchup—and if you like the company enough, you don’t need the conversation.” My Dad was the smartest person I ever knew.
THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO FAMILY
“Anna, look at the map!” My father slammed on the brakes, glaring at my mom. He didn’t believe in excessive planning, and so each summer we embarked on a spontaneous family road trip that didn’t always go smoothly. There were lots of late-night panics to find hotels, stops to ask for directions, and elevated tempers. One night, we picked up a hitchhiker somewhere in Kentucky. As we blasted the radio and my dad bought us all ice cream, the hitchhiker told me he’d give his life to have what I had.
BIG SHOES TO FILL
I cleaned out Dad’s closet yesterday. There were two things I couldn’t box up: his work shirts and his two pairs of Red Wing boots. He couldn’t remember birthdays or anniversaries, but he remembered the date on which he’d bought his first pair. I remember it too—April 16, the day after Tax Day. What does a child do with her dad’s favorite boots? I think I will make a planter out of them or use them to store something valuable. You can’t throw away a man’s favorite boots. You’ve got to keep them and pass them down.
DAD’S SECRET
My dad was a gardener before it was cool. He would proudly tell people, “I can grow just about anything.” He could—except for my beloved lilacs. He tried everything, with no luck or lilacs to show for his efforts. One night when I was a teen, it was raining in that way it does in Northern California in April: violent and cleansing. I heard the creak of the side door, and he stood soaking wet, etched with scratches, holding an abundance of lilacs. “I found a secret lilac spot,” he said. “It wasn’t easy, but I got them.” That’s how he got everything.
GOOD VIBRATIONS
My grandpa died unexpectedly at age 78, leaving our family heartbroken. During the funeral mass, my sister felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She was a little surprised that someone would be calling her, knowing she was at drandpa's funeral mass. Afterward, she found there was a message: “Hi, this is your Pa” said the male voice. “I wanted to let you know I made it home.” The caller obviously had the wrong number, but the message was clear. My grandpa had completed his journey to heaven and wanted us to know. Thanks, Pa—until we meet again.
MY FIRST FLIGHT
The little Cessna had just cleared the pattern in its climb to 1,500 feet when my father said, “OK, we can land now.” With my newly minted private pilot’s license in hand, I had wanted him to be my first non-instructor passenger. I’d planned to circle the California State University campus and come back to the university‑owned airport. I reminded him of this, and I’ll never forget what Dad said, more than 3 years ago: “I’m not fond of small planes. I just wanted you to know that I have confidence in you.”
“IS TALKING CRUCIAL?
I sat in our living room reading one night while my Dad watched television. An hour passed before I realized it, and I felt bad for not speaking during that time. I asked if he was OK, and he said yes. Then I apologized for not talking more. “Donya,” Dad replied. “Talking is like ketchup. If you like the meat enough, you don’t need the ketchup—and if you like the company enough, you don’t need the conversation.” My Dad was the smartest person I ever knew.
THE HITCHHIKER’S GUIDE TO FAMILY
“Anna, look at the map!” My father slammed on the brakes, glaring at my mom. He didn’t believe in excessive planning, and so each summer we embarked on a spontaneous family road trip that didn’t always go smoothly. There were lots of late-night panics to find hotels, stops to ask for directions, and elevated tempers. One night, we picked up a hitchhiker somewhere in Kentucky. As we blasted the radio and my dad bought us all ice cream, the hitchhiker told me he’d give his life to have what I had.
BIG SHOES TO FILL
I cleaned out Dad’s closet yesterday. There were two things I couldn’t box up: his work shirts and his two pairs of Red Wing boots. He couldn’t remember birthdays or anniversaries, but he remembered the date on which he’d bought his first pair. I remember it too—April 16, the day after Tax Day. What does a child do with her dad’s favorite boots? I think I will make a planter out of them or use them to store something valuable. You can’t throw away a man’s favorite boots. You’ve got to keep them and pass them down.
DAD’S SECRET
My dad was a gardener before it was cool. He would proudly tell people, “I can grow just about anything.” He could—except for my beloved lilacs. He tried everything, with no luck or lilacs to show for his efforts. One night when I was a teen, it was raining in that way it does in Northern California in April: violent and cleansing. I heard the creak of the side door, and he stood soaking wet, etched with scratches, holding an abundance of lilacs. “I found a secret lilac spot,” he said. “It wasn’t easy, but I got them.” That’s how he got everything.
GOOD VIBRATIONS
My grandpa died unexpectedly at age 78, leaving our family heartbroken. During the funeral mass, my sister felt her phone vibrate in her purse. She was a little surprised that someone would be calling her, knowing she was at drandpa's funeral mass. Afterward, she found there was a message: “Hi, this is your Pa” said the male voice. “I wanted to let you know I made it home.” The caller obviously had the wrong number, but the message was clear. My grandpa had completed his journey to heaven and wanted us to know. Thanks, Pa—until we meet again.
- Unknown Wishes
No comments:
Post a Comment