Father's Day

"Mom, when's dad coming home?" I can remember asking. I was anxious and impatient about dad's return. This is my first memory of dad and myself. This is in our house on the hill in Dover-Foxcroft Maine. Dad came home from work. It was rather late, and I was tired. Dad probably was, too. I remember mumbling a request for a piggy-back ride up the stairs to bed. My request was willingly granted. That's my dad. Tired and carrying this heavy four-year-old, whose arms now wrap around his neck and barely connect again, up the stairs to sleep.

More recently, I recall climbing with dad all over California and visits he paid in Seattle. I can't help but look forward to each and every next visit I get, when dad will return. "When's dad coming?"