Monday, August 25, 2008

Heroes

I've been putting off going over to my Daddy's house for about a week or so. The reason for this is because almost every time I go in there, I find myself shunted down memory lane. Sometimes, more often than not, that is a good trip and it's nice to take. Sometimes, it is not so nice.

Almost always, I get sad and miss him, terribly, all over again.

When we were small children, pretty much every night, our father would tell us of the saga of The Little Blue and White Airplane. The Little Blue and White Airplane was a hero and went around doing heroic good deeds whenever and wherever he was needed. We three would be in the bed either in my room or in my sister's. My father would lie down in the middle of the bed and we would scramble up on either side of his mighty chest. Once we were all settled, he would begin, “This is the story of The Little Blue and White Airplane. As you may remember, last time...” and he would give us a brief recap of what happened last time. Then he would start in with the latest installment. To this day, I can remember no happier time in my childhood. The sound of his voice was soothing to me. I can remember both hearing it and feeling it as I lay with my ear close to his chest. I can remember his scent and the feel of his white cotton T-shirt. I was safe and warm and completely happy.

I don't think I have felt quite that way again, ever, since that time.

Our father frequently had to go out on the road for his job. He had a paving company and had to go where the work was. Often he would be gone for a week or more. We missed him when he was gone, I'm sure. He would try to be with us as best he could, long distance. He would write out episodes of “The Little Blue and White Airplane” on composition paper, in inch high letters so that I would be able to read them. I think they were mainly for me, as my sister was but 4 years old at the time and could not yet read. I was seven. He would write down the stories, put them in big manila envelopes, and mail them back to us from wherever he happened to be that week.

I lived for those stories. They were from my Daddy, you see.

Today, I found two of them. One is dated April 11, 1968 and the other is April 18, 1968. I read them this afternoon after I got home and got my mind settled. All those feelings came back and I had to get them down while they were fresh. I'm a little teary right now, just thinking about back then, forty years ago. I can't tell you how pleased I was to find them. I don't know what I might give to get the rest of them, but I have these two and that will do. Thanks God and thanks Daddy for saving them.

My Daddy and I developed some major and serious issues as I got older. I won't go into that now. It's not the time. I guess I want to remember and to tell the world that no matter what, our Daddy loved us. And we loved him.

No doubt about it.

Thoughts?

Pax,
Nelson

Monday, August 18, 2008

been not bloggin'

'been not bloggin'
not for a while,
'been not bloggin'
ain't had no style.
been doin' other stuff
been readin' other things.
'been not bloggin'
in a mighty long while.

(Perhaps to the tune of "Been caught stealin" by Jane's Addiction. Perhaps not.)

Haven't posted any words in a while. Well, that will soon change. I promise. The big question is, "Does anybody care?" aside from me, that is. I write here primarily for myself but I welcome comments and, of course, readers.
More or less soon.

Thoughts?

Pax,
N.