My father died when I was 17. I wasn't a baby so I haven't forgotten him entirely. But each day/month/year a little bit more of him fades (coupled with the fact that I have trouble recollecting my childhood years anyway). One thing that will always stick with me, though, were his hands. Big and brown with white palms. Palms that were crossed with a million lines -- lines he passed down to me, somewhat unfortunately lol. His left ring finger was always indented when he removed his ring, indented from wearing it faithfully across 25 odd years -- my parent's marriage wasn't a happy one, but their love for each other was always there somehow. I can see them as he molded clay, punished my brother and I (never my sister), worked on the car, laid the floor, broke things in anger, hammered things together, pecked at the keyboard, spun the steering wheel. If I forget everything else about him, I think his hands will always stay with me.
Happy father's day.
I love you lady. :)
ReplyDelete-Valerie