Some of my fondest memories, of not only my dad, but of my mother also, involve camping.
Fishing. Being out in the wilderness. Stuff like that.
We did a lot of it.
Dad loved fishing.
The above photo – that’s us. Well, part of the family, anyway. Circa…. who knows?
I’m guessing 1973, or thereabouts. Back when I could get away with wearing horizontal stripes, anyway! I’m sure that Helen [my mom] probably took the photo. That’s me there, in the red and white shirt, cute as hell – as usual. Nice pants. Then there’s Dad, with a most recent catch. That Northern Pike is still alive enough to regret it’s last hors d’ouevre.
My older brother next to Dad. Why is his belt buckle undone? I have no clue. It may have something to do with a final ritual-beating administered to the recalcitrant fish.
Or something else.
Then my dear sister. [I have other sisters, not in this photo.]
Oh, I so love those memories, I really do. Not only catching the fish, but eating them.
Mmmmm……. campfires. Freshly filleted fish, sizzling away.
I want it all back. I want the time back. I want my parents back.
I want to be that cute again.
I want to look over, watch my dad reeling another one in. Help him net the fish.
Help him exaggerate the struggle afterward, when we are back at the campsite.
You may not be here today, with the rest of us, down below.
But I know you both read my blog.
And so, tune in to this, check this out → I would choose no other parents in the world, but you.
I want it all back. I want the time back.
I miss you.