This cool vintage motorcycle I saw at the flea market. I thought how my Dad would love it, his laughter of pleasure filled my ear. I could see him bending down to check it out. At that moment, I felt him by my side, my eyes welled up with tears. It is funny how out of the blue, something can remind us of someone transporting them there beside us.
Dad, you are in my heart pocket no matter how far away.
Memory: I am eight years old and riding on the gas tank of my Father's motorcycle. We are rounding up the cows for milking. My Dad says he thinks I am ready to ride alone. I take hold of the handlebars. I can feel him smiling. He says yes, you are ready and jumps off. I glance back and see him standing, still smiling, yelling, "Look where you're going!" I look ahead and see the field, the cows, the blue sky, and the wild sensation of flying by the seat of my pants." That feeling is palpable when this memory is stirred.
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