Some Yesterdays Ago
Johnny Cash sings us across Missouri and into Kansas. I whistle Ring of Fire above the roar of windrush. Dad taps out the rhythm on his knees. His fingers are long, like Picasso’s Old Guitarist. I think about injecting his insulin the night before– readying the needle and depressing its contents into an arm of frail bone and fragile flesh.
I remember different days in another time when he would make a muscle and swing me suspended, three feet above the Lucerne earth, both of my arms wound around one of his.
November 23, 2008 at 10:26 pm
Getting older affects everyone in ways never imagined while swinging from daddy arms or looking up into those faces so tall and far from ours until they get down eye to eye.
It reverses but doesn’t, in our hearts.
true enough. i know you know. thank you, pally.
November 24, 2008 at 11:53 pm
The strong may look physically frail but when the spirit and spunk remains, real strength is ever present. The most courageous battles are often fought by those to weak to stand.
you are right, of course. he’s strong now in a different way than he was strong when he was building bridges, the biggest man around. thanks for taking care of him. i’ll post about the ring now. sorry i didn’t get to it when you asked.
December 2, 2008 at 6:45 pm
You are blessed to have happy memories of your father, weak or strong. Treasure them.
absolutely. i will.