I love my father. He would do anything for anybody. He is smart, has a very easy time making others laugh, and he treats my mom like royalty. He even calls her "the duchess", though usually in jest . He also has a booming voice, a ridiculous temper, hates (or does a good job pretending to hate) socializing, is often grouchy and has issues communicating. Dad did not have a stress-free experience parenting two daughters, and the stress showed. So, imagine my surprise when on a cold February Friday, dad woke his wife and daughters up told us we were going to have a "Really fun weekend!"
We did. I was thirteen at the time, and ten years later I still remember as one of the best weekends I have the ability to remember. We went to down-town Detroit and to the Detroit Institute of Arts, to see a mummy exhibition. Our family got in for free because the lady working the front desk was so impressed with my mom's knowledge. Then, we dropped in on a Motown tribute concert that just happened to be going on , after which a seemingly homeless street-musician serenaded my sister and I with Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" because we talked dad into giving him a couple bucks. The next day we saw Fame at the Detroit Opera House . My mom, sister and I inherited a slight obsession with musical theater from my maternal grandparents, so he knew he'd hit a home run with that one. Are you wondering what motivated daddy to create this memory , like I was? He had cancer again and he thought he was dying...soon.
My father is very much alive; I would guess he doesn't regret that weekend. All four of us still tell stories about it.
Any of us could pass way within the hour. Why does a doctor always have to remind us of that? We should all be doing what we love with whomever we love right now. I am not saying who should grab your families and spend money on them , immediately. Everything we did other than the hotel and the play, that weekend, was free. Tickets to the D.I.A . range from five to twenty dollars, unless you are as intelligent as my mother. I am saying never forget that you're mortal. When my sister and I reminisce about that time-- we mostly discuss, how spontaneous it was and how much we all smiled.
It's never a bad choice to make a memory; there is always a chance it could be your last.
We did. I was thirteen at the time, and ten years later I still remember as one of the best weekends I have the ability to remember. We went to down-town Detroit and to the Detroit Institute of Arts, to see a mummy exhibition. Our family got in for free because the lady working the front desk was so impressed with my mom's knowledge. Then, we dropped in on a Motown tribute concert that just happened to be going on , after which a seemingly homeless street-musician serenaded my sister and I with Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely" because we talked dad into giving him a couple bucks. The next day we saw Fame at the Detroit Opera House . My mom, sister and I inherited a slight obsession with musical theater from my maternal grandparents, so he knew he'd hit a home run with that one. Are you wondering what motivated daddy to create this memory , like I was? He had cancer again and he thought he was dying...soon.
My father is very much alive; I would guess he doesn't regret that weekend. All four of us still tell stories about it.
Any of us could pass way within the hour. Why does a doctor always have to remind us of that? We should all be doing what we love with whomever we love right now. I am not saying who should grab your families and spend money on them , immediately. Everything we did other than the hotel and the play, that weekend, was free. Tickets to the D.I.A . range from five to twenty dollars, unless you are as intelligent as my mother. I am saying never forget that you're mortal. When my sister and I reminisce about that time-- we mostly discuss, how spontaneous it was and how much we all smiled.
It's never a bad choice to make a memory; there is always a chance it could be your last.
No comments:
Post a Comment