Wednesday, March 14, 2012

More than a pretty sunset...a memory

I followed the line of cars down the road in a sort of mundane, rote order. This, the route I drive home each day. I glanced up into the afternoon sky and was delighted the clouds were putting on a resplendent show. This is much better to gaze upon than the dirty brown Nissan car ahead.

Soft purplish-blue round shapes were outlined with a golden touch, the sun behind causing this. Above this impressive sight were delicate wisps of stratocumulus clouds laid horizontally.

A few minutes into studying clouds, grateful for their beauty, I begin to think of him, my Dad. This happens almost every time I stare into them, my thoughts take me here. I remember the times we'd gaze upon them and he'd begin to tell me the names. Then he'd describe what they meant for the weather and for flights.

Dad was a pilot. He knew the sky. Not one to, in any way, speak with a pretentious manner, he would just share his knowledge. I loved it. Even as an adult, I'd ask questions to learn more about something I'd never had the opportunity to study. I also asked questions just to hear him talk. I was amazed at his knowledge.

As a very young man he had climbed into planes, jumped out of them, learned to command them and fly bomber missions over a country light-years away from his humble, Southern, small-town upbringing. What courage he must have had to muster up.

Thanks Dad. Thanks for being a role model for us all. Thanks for sharing knowledge. Thanks for building this connection between us that I can remember each time my eyes and thoughts linger on the clouds overhead. I miss you so.


  1. What a wonderful gift--we inherit so much from our parents. He must have been an amazing man.

  2. Your writing has such wonderful flow, wonderful rhythm. I can just see you sitting in your car and thinking about your dad. Lovely, Becky. :)