When I Think of Dad

When I think of Dad I hear coffee percolating very early in the morning, smell eggs and toast cooking, and hear heavy footsteps leaving the house.

I hear a deep voice reading “Little Red Ridinghood” doing all the characters’ voices, especially the wolf.

I see kind brown eyes and a white t-shirt, and country music on the stereo.

I remember early cold winter mornings and a tired man starting my car so I could go to work on Sunday, his one day to sleep in.

I hear muttered comments and laughter at a family gathering.

I see old cars held together with spit and a prayer carrying a family of 6 wherever they needed to go.

I see green lollipops, burned cookies, and grape popsicles that nobody else wanted.

I remember plastic ware in a shirt pocket at family reunion picnics.

I hear silly rhymes and someone calling me “Snicklefrits”.

I know that I grew up with love, respect, and understanding nobody else could have given.