I am thinking of writing an essay about my dad that digs deep into my memory of what was good about him, in addition to the usual stories I tell about what was not so great about him. Below are just a few rough draft paragraphs that may not end up in the essay. But this is how the process begins: with exploration.
The memory involves sunshine and youth, and when you say those two words together, sunshine and youth, you might think I’m getting at something glorious and happy. That wouldn’t be true. It’s the song and the sunshine, the way the sunshine slants at the intersection of Pleasant and Central Streets, just at the moment Rod Stewart sings through the car radio, “Maggie, I think I got something to say to you…” that I see him: my father.
This is all kind of fucked up because I don’t think my father spent any time at the intersection of Pleasant and Central, which isn’t the nicest part of town so he would have had no interest. Yet I see him. He’s walking down the street in the 4 p.m. sun, not at its height and not yet set. Once he existed in such a space, perhaps at a different intersection, perhaps in a different town, but he walked in a 4 o’clock sun.
My father has been dead for eight and a half years.