Sunday, June 21, 2009

Daddy's Day

I found myself calculating the difference in time to California and heading for the phone as I saw it was Father's Day. No, it's too early to call Dad. Lessee, earth to the One is about a lifetime away. It's Sunday today... oh, so listen...can you hear the sunshine hitting the air and shifting the layers? It hits the leaves and pushes their fluids around, changing sugars and such. The trees wave their branches about in the breeze to expose all the surfaces to the sunshine. In that way our Father shines upon us from all directions, giving us heat and moving our fluids around.

What? Father? Will usually waxes poetic about Mom, especially on Holy Days. But remember, the Tree has two sides and we are reminded to honor the Father and the Mother. Yesterday was Solstice, today is Sunday and it's Father's Day. I'd like to go sit with Dad in the back yard while the birds are singing and calling to one another. He loved their singing and he loved to watch them fly. I know that when he watched them fly, he was flying too. I've been with Dad in the air, I know how he loves those lazy eights and looping turns. We'd go flying nearly straight up in that Cesna 175 until it'd pause, we'd be weightless, and then we drop, loop and turn until any normal man would have passed out or thrown up. I always got to the brink of passing out but held on because sometimes, on a crazy whim, Dad would hand the controls over to me and say, "Here, Stud, take over."

My razor is dull, I can't finish my shaving. It's a disposable but I use it for about a year before tossing. It must be about a year. It's always strange going to buy a bag of cheap razors with a couple day old beard, maybe half shaven. I feel like I need someone to help count out my change. "Here we go, Billy. How many pennies do we have?"

Dad used to hunch his back and roll his shoulders. I never thought much about it until recently, when I roll my shoulders, trying to relieve the stinging, burning fibromyalgia pain. I get up and walk around, angry and impatient, waiting for the damn pills to kick in. I sit down, continue typing, mis-spelling and rolling my shoulders. Dang, it hurts. Dad used to snap at me when I bothered him for something or another. Like starting the lawn mower or finding where I'd misplaced his hammer. I always thought he was mean. Now I'm mean. But it's just because my pills haven't kicked in. Dad didn't have pills to kick in. The best he had was beer and a shot. Yeah, I've tried that but the next day it's worse. I think if I had to live like that I would have to be grumpy the second or third time a kid asked me to get up and do something.

"Here, Stud, take over"

No can do, Dad, you're the man, I'm just a close second. I can fly a Cesna for a few minutes once you get us up into the air, but I'm no mean eagle. I happen to know my Father can really fly. I know he trusts me to carry on down here until I get my wings and can join him in a dizzy, crazy , lazy eight way up where the Sun shines in all directions, warming us and keeping us smiling.

I love you Dad, call me sometime when you get a chance.

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