Sitting in the old truck. It’s the afternoon. There’s water slowly streaming down the windshield. It’s been raining for a while. Grey afternoon light pours in.
I’ve got the local jazz radio station, KCSM, dialed in. I’m thinking about my dad.
As some of you know he’s been gone a couple years. Listening to jazz is one of the ways I bring him back. He’s almost right here, sitting next to me. Almost.
In the midst of pandemic and busy life otherwise, I realize again how important these moments are, how important creating these moments is.
What lessons did I learn from my folks? What things can I apply to my own parenting? Good to ponder that once in a while. Maybe more than once in a while.
From those kernels, those memories, those recollections, two things emerge, if we are lucky: we get the insight, the lesson, the bit of wisdom from thinking back, and…?
And too, we get the beloved memory itself, the feeling of being close to them again, to how it was, how it felt when it was good with them, maybe I’d even say that feeling of true love.
Our first true love, before romance clouded our hearts; instead when we first felt loved, by someone who looked after us and cared for us and wanted only good for us.
I’m lucky. I’ve felt that before. And sitting in the old truck, listening to jazz for a few minutes, I had a little rush of that feeling again, and could almost hear my dad’s voice again. Glad to be there again.