I am in Chicago and tired, but did not want to hit the hay without reporting to those interested that I have just stepped outside the Michigan Avenue Hilton and smoked my annual Garcia y Vega cigar. Why, you might ask, do I chew on such a manifestly shitty cigar ever, much less once a year on All Saint's Day? Because my father smoked Garcia y Vegas, today is his birthday, and this is the way I remember him. Some say that smell is our most evocative sense. I don't know, but when I smoke Garcia y Vegas, I remember my dad.
He was a great father, husband, historian, librarian and gardener. He taught me many things, including that there are some things worth fighting for. I miss him every day.
He's looking down and smoking one in your honor about now, I know for sure. How proud he must be of what has become of that little boy on the arm of his chair.
ReplyDeleteBlond hair on a tigerhawk?
ReplyDeleteTo be clear, the boy in the picture is my son, then about two. Now he's fourteen.
ReplyDeleteWhile I had fairly blond hair as a lad, he has the advantage of a Norwegian grandfather on his mother's side.