I meant to post this a couple days ago. This past weekend, I went to my Dad’s, looking for a book about an ancestor for the local paper looking for information for the sesquicentennial next year.
Anyway, he doesn’t have the internet, so I printed a few of my posts for him, one’s I thought he would be interested in. The next day, he called me, and said he came home from church Sunday and cried. I said, “Why.” and he said, “Well, I read that stuff you gave me.”
Yeah, so, I told him, “Well, how do you think I felt when I was writing that stuff? You don’t think I had to stop a few times to wipe away the tears?”
Now, I am sure, as some point in all these 52 years, I have made my dad cry for me, but I don’t know if I made him cry for things I thought or wrote or felt.
I don’t know whether to be happy or sad. But, I do know this. I enjoyed our time together Saturday, because I found out some things about the family I never knew before, and I cherish every moment these days because I never know when or if it will be the last. He is 80 after all. He may outlive me, chances are no, but still, I can’t express enough to the youth of today, my kids, anyone – take the time now, today, because one day, you might wish you had.
I had this regret with my mom. I make every effort to not feel this way about my dad.