Night after night, I stare at my father’s army shadowbox and hear the crashy high hats and brassy horns of Benny Goodman, Artie Shaw and the rest of the glorious big bands that saved him through World War II.
And that sorta gets me thinking...
If he were alive now, there’d be so many things I’d want to know like how to build a sun deck or change a friggin' tire. And what's the deal with all those Japanese half-brothers and sisters he always joked I had?
As I curse the non-filtered Chesterfields that kidnapped him long before he could see me with an inkling of wisdom, I realize that I never shook his hand.
And that sorta makes me sad…
SAD is a loss, but how you treasure what/why you treasure, dear Mr V, well that's the stuff of memories outta where the shadows go into the ring.
ReplyDeleteYou're a champ and your Pop knows it Bucko. ~ Absolutely*Kate