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Jun. 21st, 2009 06:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amaeWhen I remember my father the first thing I think of is his stomach. It may be a bit unflattering for him, but in my early years my favorite place to sleep was on his stomach. I would crawl on his lap and rest my head on it, and just listen. To his stomach making funny noises after he just finished eating, to his heart beating, and then I would fall asleep. It probably wasn't too comfortable for him, but he never complained.
The second thing I remember is his beard. The way it scratched my face when he bent down to kiss me, and how it made me absolutely convinced that if Santa Claus existed he would look like my father. To my chagrin it made people think he was my grandfather at times (and I would emphatically tell them otherwise), but in the end it was one of those defining features about him that I will never forget.
The third thing I remember is his songs. Apparently when he was young they used to call him Elvis (this never ceases to amuse me), though admittedly his songs never really reminded me of the rock star. Instead they are steeped in tradition, in a tongue that I was never taught, or simply silly tunes he made from my name because he knew how much I liked hearing about myself (I was a very narcissistic child, I'll admit).
My mother told me that she had a dream with him in it, a few months ago. She said that in it I was a child, and every time he came close to me I would walk away from him. He turned to her and told her to make sure I remember him.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I may have never been good at celebrating this day properly, but I will never, ever forget you.
The second thing I remember is his beard. The way it scratched my face when he bent down to kiss me, and how it made me absolutely convinced that if Santa Claus existed he would look like my father. To my chagrin it made people think he was my grandfather at times (and I would emphatically tell them otherwise), but in the end it was one of those defining features about him that I will never forget.
The third thing I remember is his songs. Apparently when he was young they used to call him Elvis (this never ceases to amuse me), though admittedly his songs never really reminded me of the rock star. Instead they are steeped in tradition, in a tongue that I was never taught, or simply silly tunes he made from my name because he knew how much I liked hearing about myself (I was a very narcissistic child, I'll admit).
My mother told me that she had a dream with him in it, a few months ago. She said that in it I was a child, and every time he came close to me I would walk away from him. He turned to her and told her to make sure I remember him.
Happy Father's Day, Daddy. I may have never been good at celebrating this day properly, but I will never, ever forget you.
