family

Our recollection of things as we learned to love them can act like a snagged anchor when we sail into a new channel.

I counted away the years from his death like when we’d count off to start hide and seek. At last in my hide and seek, I opened my eyes and the memories of Dad were nowhere to be seen.

I am from Kroger sliced baloney. From K-Mart windbreakers and GI Joes and soda pop glasses from the Gulf station that were giveaways when you filled up your tank. I am from the one-and-a-half story housing tract bungalow with a picture window and a finished basement where the hot glue scent and the smoke from a soldering iron rose up together.

My father taught me to respect electricity. Like it was the Pope, to us Catholic boys, but a Pope who could reach out and smack you dead.