Saturday morning at Niagara Falls was a bit bittersweet for me. As I sat in the observation lounge and watched the Falls I realized that the first time I had been to the Falls my dad had taken me there. I am thankful that my grieving has progressed and I can call the morning bittersweet. It took awhile for me to be able to experience the sweetness. But I remember how we had to get up in the middle of the night, because Dad was a truck driver and truck drivers NEVER start trips when it’s daylight. They want to be at their destination by daylight. At least that’s how my dad was. So we three kids put on warm clothes and piled into the back seat of the car. I don’t remember much about the Falls themselves. Just the trip.

I’ll Have to Tell Dad
Lately I frequently seem to have the thought “I’ll have to tell Dad that.” And then I realize that I can’t. I don’t remember thinking that I should tell Dad something very often when he was alive. I guess it’s reached the point where I miss talking to him. When he was alive I visited regularly, but we didn’t talk much. He wasn’t a talker and we didn’t have much in common. Early in my adult life I didn’t tell him things about my life because I knew he’d let me know that he thought whatever I was saying or doing was foolishness. Later in my adult life I’d tell him those things just to enjoy him telling me what foolishness it was. Maybe that’s part of growing up. I’d learned that what was foolishness to him was often right for me. I reached a point of knowing that’s just how Dad was and that we were very different. Him telling me it was foolishness was his way of trying to protect me from doing things he would never do. I miss it.

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