Reconciling

[I look at the old picture - the small blonde headed boy in the man's arms.]

I am perched in dad's protective arms, cradling me in his right arm with the left one providing support. He is turned towards me, smiling while I am turned away - maybe I had just said something? Or, s he leaning back to help with the picture being taken of me? Mamaw took the picture, was it supposed to be of father and son or just me? Whichever, it is funny that neither of us are looking in the right direction.

We stand in the hallway of Mamaw's house - the shiny wood trim decorating the hallway - her bedroom door is just visible in the background. I walked that hallway so many times as a child and later in adulthood. She often was my babysitter when mom and dad were out. They are picking me up from one such night. Moments after this picture, I sit on dad's knee as everybody talks. He bounces me and I eventually puke on him and the floor. There is no scolding as they clean me and everything else - he is gentle and comforting. I felt safe with him.

It has been just over two years since dad passed away and this photograph sits on my desk - as always. It is proof, at least my own, of his humanity and love. A tear appears as I hold the picture today. I included this photo in the funeral home slide show. At one point, I told its story and it is met with shaking heads, disdain and negativity.

Nowadays, the photograph makes me nostalgic and keenly aware of my own mortality. I have a similar picture with me holding my grandson sitting nearby. Both images make me smile and stress how quickly things change.

Those who knew dad like to say I am a much better father than him, but really they base this judgement on stories - stories that have grown over the years. My memories of dad are chocked full of good moments. The bad stuff happened when I was an adult as we locked horns over and over.

I miss you dad.