September 11...
Happy
birthday,
Dad!
You
certainly
chose
an
auspicious
birthday.
I remember your story
of 2001
when you
were
getting your birthday hair cut
in North Carolina.
You saw everyone
glued to the tv
watching
the airplanes crashing
into the World Trade Centers
over and over.
You thought
it was just
some
dumb
new
Hollywood movie.
You didn't discover
the enormity
of what had happened
on your birthday
until you got home
and
Mother told you.
I
miss
you,
Dad.
It's been two years now
since that day
I biked
Century Number 5
and stopped by to see you
and said good-bye.
I biked across America
that summer
with your
glasses
on my handlebars.
I think of you
every day
when I look in
the
microscope...
when
I
do an
autopsy...
This summer
now that
Mom has died
and I
have a concussion
to recover from...
I spend days
quietly
emptying
your
old storage shed.
finding
treasures...
Your
16 year-old
baseball
predictions...
and your
young tally
of
your fortune....
Pictures
from 1948
after
the
war...
and
love
letters from
a young
Mom.
I read
she is shocked
you could bike
65 miles
as you biked
around
Europe.
I never
knew
you
biked.
I find
the sales receipt
from the Buick
you bought
for $60...
and
memories
of your
first Mercedes.
Your
old
jacket,
gloves
still
in the
pockets.
I
find
old
birthday cards
from me...
and
Mom...
Your
old tennis
racket...
Those
were
the
days...
So much of
who
I am
today....
pathologist
adventurer
dog-lover
competitor
it all
came from
you.
Sometimes
I still hear your voice.
Your wry sense of humor.
Your chuckle.
Sometimes
I still
smell your cigar.
I miss you,
Dad.
Happy Birthday,
September 11.
