The ride into work this morning was really nice today. With the weather changing a bit, the windows were down and the music was playing a little louder than normal. I stopped to get a coffee, which I usually make at home, but wanted to treat myself today. This type of weather, along with lots of New Englanders, is my favorite. The “I’ll put the jacket in the car just in case” weather. Windows open at night, maybe the fan on slow setting. The smell of the cut grass that you haven’t smelled in months. Seems like everyone just getting a glimpse of the sun puts people in better spirits.
As I pulled into the parking lot at work, I put my jacket on, and went to put my keys in my jacket pocket I pulled out a lifesaver mint and couldn’t stop smiling. That mint was there from a lacrosse game I was at with my Dad. My Dad always has some type of mint or hard candy on him for every single event. At a dance recital or concert you will be lost in your own world and will just see my Dad’s hand flash in front of your eyes silently offering you a mint.
There was a death last week that really hit me, in a way I hadn’t thought about in a long time. John Havlicek was a famous Boston Celtic basketball player who passed away at the age of 79. But, it wasn’t just the man, it was his age that hit me. It sort of brought mortality to the front of my mind. The old Celtics always remind me of my Dad, so I was hit with a small reminder of how short life really is. Lots of my friends have already lost their Dads. In fact, when we are all together they joke about how they are in the “Dead Dads Club”. The ones with their Dads still alive will joke with them about Fathers Day or how we just had dinner with our Dads, because we are jerks, but also it is probably something that brings us a little closer together. My friends aren’t really just friends, we treat each other like brothers.
But, on this beautiful morning I was reminded when I pulled that mint out of my pocket just how lucky I still be able to have these memories. I got to feel the temperature of the ground in front of me instead of squinting to see what is way down the road. I’ll get to that place someday, but thanks to my Dad I’ll always have good breath when I get there.
Categories: My Dad