It's time to write about my dad again. My dad, who recently passed away, was a pretty awesome fellow. I think it was my husband that said, "when they made Bud they broke the mold." Too bad, world. There won't be any more Buds any time soon.
Back in the early 1960s, there was this sitcom on television called "The Donna Reed Show." It was cute, wholesome, you know - the usual 1960s sitcom fare. But it had Donna Reed and Shelly Fabares and they were so gorgeous to look at and even to listen to. Then there was Paul Petersen, the son/brother. He wasn't much, but he recorded a song that was played on pop radio stations over and over. It was "My Dad," and it was rather insipid as I recall. However, lately, since my dad's passing, I keep finding myself singing the refrain to that song, which was "My dad, now here is a man," except I change it to the past tense since my dad is gone now.
I'm glad I got to spend a lot of time with my dad before he passed on, but I still miss him every day. Today, I was at his house; I was sitting on the back porch looking into the back yard at the shed he built for all of his yard tools. That house and that shed are truly his places. I always feel like he's there, with me. It makes me sad that we have to sell that house, because when the house is gone, there won't be many sites left that I can go to and conjure him up like that. There are a few items of furniture in the house that I always go to when I am at the house. Like his dresser - I always open a couple of drawers in the dresser. His clothes are still in there. I look at them and I can feel his spirit or something. Today I stumbled onto his wheelchair and walker. I guess my brother had brought them back from the nursing center that he had been living at up until his death. I saw them and I whispered, "Dad." I also saw his telephone that had been brought from the nursing center and again I whispered, "Dad." I miss you, old man. RIP.