Standing in line at a deli counter, waiting to place an order. Nearby is an older gentleman—Grandpa, I guessed—and a boy, around eleven years old. They've already ordered and are waiting.
Grandpa: Tomorrow might be hard.
Kid: Yeah, maybe.
Grandpa: You miss your dad a lot, don't you?
Kid: (looks up, puzzled) No. Why would I?
Grandpa: Because he's...gone?
Kid: No he's not.
Grandpa: Then where is he?
Kid: (taps chest) Right here.
I had to get out of line. Grown assed men don't suddenly start crying in the grocery store.
Every year since my dad died, I've agonized on Father's Day and haven't allowed myself to enjoy it with my own kids, but screw that. That kid was right. My dad isn't here, but he's here. Something all of us who have lost our dads might do well to remember.
16 June 2012
From a friend: