My hubby, God love him, has an affinity for old movies. I used to hate older movies, especially black
and white ones. I just preferred the look
of more modern movies and, well, color.
But, I have to say that old movies are beginning to grow on me, a little.
So, Hubs was watching an older movie today and it distracted
me with its humor. So, I started
watching it with him. It was
humorous. Alas, I had to run to the
grocery store and didn’t get to finish it with him. As I sat down to chill while the Pinterest
meatloaf recipe baked, I asked about his movie.
He said that he paused it when I left since I seemed to be enjoying
it. I commented that I thought it was
funny. He responded, “It was one of my
dad’s favorites. Boats and nurses. Can’t go wrong with that.” I joked that practically every old movie he
watches was a favorite of his dad. “He
didn’t talk much. It was one of the only
ways I had to get to know him, through his movies.”
That comment by my hubs was sweet, honest yet sad all at
once. Initially, I used to be a little
judgmental about the way that my father-in-law seemed to relate to his
sons. I felt defensive for my husband,
that he must have been slighted in some way because they didn’t share long,
profound conversations. My husband speaks fondly of his father,
knowing that he worked hard to provide for his family, trying to do what was
best for them even at the cost of missing many childhood milestones.
Interesting how life brings about appreciation and
understanding. Today, I thought about my
own father and the ways that we bonded.
I can’t complain. I spent a good
many hours doing things with him that often brought us closer, gave me glimpses
into who he was and how he thought.
Sometimes, those times didn’t bring us closer, like the hours in the
water trying to get my ass up on skis. I
remember more than a couple of curse words during those watery endeavors.
I have many fond memories of time spent with my dad. I remember going hunting with him on more
than one occasion. We went turkey
hunting and quail hunting. Turkey
hunting was too much of a challenge with me; I had trouble keeping quiet. I remember fishing on ponds and in the
lake. I hated putting the worm on the
hook and eventually was forced to do the deed.
My dad was a talented carpenter and spent many hours in his wood shop
making things. I enjoyed just hanging
out with him. And then, of course, there
was time spent at the lake. He’d pull us
around on inner tubes and ski (once I finally learned). He liked just hanging out with friends around
the fire, drinking beer.
I think my fondest memory, the one that I hold the closest
to my heart, sometimes shedding a tear or two, was snuggling up next to my dad,
first thing in the morning while he drank coffee at the kitchen bar. He would be all warm, and I remember the
smell of his coffee and menthol cigarettes.
Who am I to judge the origin and quality of the root of a
bond? I treasure the bond that my dad
and I developed before he died. I would
have elected to share thirty more years to build memories with my dad. But since I can’t have that, I am so grateful
for the bonding we did have. I hope that
I can leave my kids with a bond that brings them fond memories in years to
come. All I can do is try.
