I was talking to a friend of mine (yes, I have a friend, multiple in fact...don't laugh) about a shared pain we have and he made me think...what do I really have in life.
I have my kids, my wife (Dinkus MARRIED ME...SUCKER!), my career, this blog (I mean...I guess...kinda), my health (well...minus this chest cold) and my addiction to parentheses.
Really all of those will grow up, wise up, dry up, be forgotten and deteriorate (damn, I'm positive), so what do we really have...memories.
My friend told me how he would watch Rudolph, you know the Burl Ives version that is amazing, with his mother. Every year since she passed he has not missed it. He makes it an event of sorts, quiet room, no distractions, etc. He does not do it because he wants to see if Rudolph kills off a toy (the sick reindeer throws a plane out of the sleigh...IT CAN'T FLY!!!! Crap, is that the wrong special?), but because it brings back a memory that is important to him. It gives him a sense of belonging and comfort. It gives him his mother.
So it got me thinking...what are some of my memories that give me my life. I am going to limit this to those that I have lost (actually, they aren't lost...they're in caskets somewhere...see what I did there) and save a future post on my third child (THREE?!?!) as well as those around me that make me happy (are you all wondering if you made the list, you probably didn't).
So my pop-pop used to make my sister and I rub his head. He would guilt us into it by telling us if we did not do it, he would get his make believe grandson Jimmy (also my make believe cousin, I guess). I can still feel his hair thru my hands and I can still remember competing with my sister to actually rub his head. Sometimes when I run my hands thru my hair, I remember. Good times...
Before my father passed music was his passion. I used to get embarrassed when he would belt out a tune at a bonfire or sing the National Anthem at a Pirate game (Lets go Bucs). His instrument of choice was an acoustic guitar, so there are times where I will hear an acoustic version of a current song or a Willie Nelson song and it takes me to the bonfires. I can smell the smoke, hear the crackle of the fire and see the sparks fly into the air. My father is sitting on a stump with his eyes closed and his bottom lip tucked into his mouth a bit.
As a follow up, I am starting to see a physical resemblance in me to my father...it is really freaky, I do not know how I feel about it.
I have to be careful with this last one. So my paternal grandfather fought in World War II and apparently his/my family thought he was a little...well...a little racist towards Asian people (spoiler alert...keep reading). My older cousin Dean (hi Rania, Giorgos and Stef) dated an Asian woman. I can remember my parents being worried that my grandfather would flip out (I just pictured my grandfather doing a backflip). So the day came that my grandfather was going to meet Dean's girlfriend (Rania is 1000% better) and I was sitting in his living room waiting to leave. He turned to me and said "I know everybody is worried that I am not going to like REDACTED because she is Asian, but honestly I've always found Asian women very attractive". After the shock of my 80+ year old grandfather saying anything close to sexual wore off, I laughed...a lot. Now there are times I see an Asian woman and I think of my grandfather (is that some sort of uber-Freud thing?).
Here is what it comes down to...
Life, at its simplest, is just a collection of memories that help define ourselves. So go out there and make some memories, but be careful...you may also be making memories for your kids.
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