I struggled to write this post. I know my Dad would want me to write from a place of joy and not a place of sadness. Dad loved to read what I wrote. My WingMan has been my “editor” since I was in grade school.
The death of Mohammed Ali brought back fond memories of my childhood. I remember Dad dancing around our living room saying “…dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee…”. It brings a smile to my face even as I type. My Dad was tough on us. He had high expectations and encouraged all of us to deliver above and beyond expectations. Dad was there for all my track meets, riding competitions, for every graduation. He was always there with a smile, a hug and pride in his eyes. The last few years when Dad lived across the street from me it was not uncommon for me to walk over at the end of a long day for a hug just to get some “…strength and love….”. It was the best renewable energy ever. These days I get my dose of Dad by sitting in his recliner and contemplating “WWDS” or “what would Dad say?”
Despite the fact that I can’t seem to put it into regular practice, what I have learned the past several years is that we can’t wait for high days or holidays to celebrate with those we love.
Happy Father’s Day, WingMan. I love you and I miss you.
“….If I could get another chance, another walk, another dance with him
I’d play a song that would never, ever end
How I’d love, love, love
To dance with my father again…”
Luther Vandross, “Dance with My Father”