babble.jennasdad

– memories of a man getting older –

Happy Days

October 18th, 2008 · No Comments

My childhood memories are happiness. They smell like fresh air.

Once, my daughter, when you were little, we were driving in the car with the windows down and you were enjoying the fresh air. You proclaimed with a voice of contentment, “It feels like God kissing my cheeks.”

On another occasion, as I was to set off to work in the morning, I leaned over to bring my face before yours to say goodbye. You placed your small hands upon my checks and gave me this advice, “Be brave. Have fun.”

I doubt we have anything to teach our children. I think the craziest of people are believed to have been touched by angels.

I remember the feel of my father’s cheek. I remember the odor of his skin. It was like being home. It was home. Arriving home from his day at work he had grown a small, raspy, stubble upon his face. I liked it, the texture. He hung his jacket on the banister of the steps that lead upstairs. In the mornings he had a cup of coffee, no sugar, condensed milk. And if it was winter he would go out and start  the car to warm it up for the drive to New Brunswick. He worked at Rutger’s Chevrolet as the parts department manager. He had a head for numbers, as I do. For a time, I worked for Bug Parts. We sold Volkswagen parts and I had hundreds of part numbers memorized. The were usually nine digits, in groups of three. It was a form of music: 119 139 009 – oil sensor switch.

There is the signature of divinity in numbers. Numerous authors have written concerning that science, that art, that mysticism. We are taught mundane math in schools. In schools we are driven to find answers, yet life would have us pursue questions without answers being the goal.

My dad liked white meat, yet always gave it to my sister and I, never once letting on or complaining or asking us to share. My mother is old, counting her last days, and wants to go because, as she says, “What use am I to anyone?” The Tao says, “He who feels used, must have been useful.”

There is bliss in sacrifice and that cannot be spoken or rationally understood.

Tags: Family

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