Of course, he's not. He's been gone for almost 30 years, but that scent lingers in the corridors of my mind, if no where else. So much so that if I should happen to smell it, I immediately think of my dad and for a second look to see if he's here.
Like most dads, my dad worked hard. We weren't rich. He wasn't a college graduate, or a skilled laborer. By day he was a microfilm technician, by night a furniture upholsterer at our down stairs neighbor's business. Both trades now long gone by the wayside.
Even after all these years, I can close my eyes and smell my daddy. I can feel him kiss my forehead and tap his finger gently on the bridge of my nose when saying good night to me, trying not to wake me. I can see him sitting in the wing back chair that he re-upholstered in black & white snake skin naugahyde. It was his favorite possession, his design - a creation he was incredibly proud of. Our living room was very 70's with my dad's works of art, including an antique red velvet Victorian style chair and foot stool, adorning the room. He took such great joy in taking a chair someone thought of as trash - and restoring it to it's former splendor.
He could look straight through the mess to see the inner beauty in anything. That was my dad.
Every morning he was out the door by 7 am, every night he dragged his butt back out the door for job #2 by 6:30 pm. Sunday was family time. I remember sitting beside him on the high pile shag living room floor watching Creature Features or funny cars and NASCAR on Howard Cosell's Wide World of Sports.
As busy as my dad was running between jobs - he was always sure to have quality time with us.
|This was it! Very big deal! TV AND Record Player!|
My early childhood took place in the 70's. TV hadn't been in every household for all that long. There were 7 channels & UHF - black & white. Watching TV with daddy on Sunday afternoon was a big treat!
For my brother, they went on hikes. They packed day packs and walked the Appalachian Trail. These are my memories. The things that just a whiff of Brut cologne bring to mind.
They're both gone - he and my brother, but the memories linger.
Every single time I get a whiff of Brut cologne, a smile stretches across my face.
I close my eyes, and for just a second my daddy is with me.
Happy Birthday in Heaven, Daddy!
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