Stories Collected While Living in France

French la Vie

Father’s Day

Father's Day

                   Father's Day Motorcycle

 

 

The other day I saw a vintage motorcycle at the flea market. I thought about how my Dad would have loved it. I could see him rub his chin as he bent down to check it out…and at the moment, in that briefest second that cannot be measured, I felt him by my side and my eyes welled up with tears. It is funny how out of the blue, something can remind us of someone, and then there they are right by our side.

Dad, no matter how far away you are, I know you are near.

Memory:

I am eight years old and riding in front of my Father on his motorcycle. We are rounding up the cows to go milk them in the barn. My Dad says that he thinks I am ready to ride on my own. I take hold of the handlebars, I feel him proud. He says, "Ya you are ready!" And jumps off. I glance back, see him standing with his hands on his hips, smiling, yelling, "Look where you're going!" I look ahead, see the field, the cows, the blue sky, and the freedom to explore.

The feeling has never left.

 

Tell me a memory of you Dad?

Comments

23 responses to “Father’s Day”

  1. Rhonda

    And you married a man who loves motorcycles, it makes sense. Someone once said women are looking for a bit of their fathers in choosing their spouse and I believe it.
    A great memory of my dad would be of us 3 kids in the backseat of our car traveling from Chicago to San Francisco and playing I Spy. He showed us the United States via vehicle many times. Are we there yet still makes us all laugh.

    Reply
  2. Stella

    That’s the most beautiful story Corey!
    I am four years old and our yard has been dug up to change a pipe for water to our house. My Dad tells me not to go anywhere near the hole.
    Later, I am of course in the hole yelling my head off. Dad comes out and calls out my name over and over above my shrieking: “Denise, where are youuuuuu?” Then after a minute, he chuckles as he lifts me out of the hole, dusts me off and carries me into the house.

    Reply
  3. Shelley Noble

    Mine are all very negative, I’m afraid. I am grateful for my DNA and life. The rest is a shame.

    Reply
  4. Bonnie

    Fishing with a cane pole in a pirogue in the bayous of southern Louisiana. Daddy loved to fish. We were five children and I was the only one who shared his passion for fishing; so I was usually the only one willing to get up before dawn and join him. Though I believe I also knew this was a rare opportunity to get one on one time with him. He would come into the bedroom I shared with three sisters and gently pull my foot to wake me up. No words were spoken so as not to awaken the others. I’d get dressed in a flash, and once we were in the car he’d give me a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos to sip on while we drove to the boat launch. He passed 18 years ago, and one of his lures hangs in my kitchen window where I see it on a daily basis. It serves to bring back favorite memories of my childhood.

    Reply
  5. Barbara Snow

    Evenings spent on the river between Minnesota and Wisconsin. My dad, who never had a son, taught me everything he knew about nature. I am reminded of him every time I see an eagle soaring over water, or deer in the woods. It’s been 12 years since I lost him and I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t think of him.
    Barb in Minnesota

    Reply
  6. g

    well-my dad was a in the marines as a young man right out of high school-after marring my mom he entered the reserves-one weekend a month 2 weeks a year, usually out in the desert in Arizona-well I wanted a red stuff dog and i’ll be darned he found one and I still have him to this day….a little worse for the wear but aren’t we all….LOVE YOUR PICTURE

    Reply
  7. g

    SORRY for the typos above was dad was calling me to come look at the 2 cats….I was rushed in my reply please excuse…

    Reply
  8. Vicki

    I was the oldest of four girls. My father was a pharmacist. At bedtime he would carry us, one by one, up the stairs, singing “Rockabye my babies with a Dixie melody…”. We would curl up on the bed and he would read us Winnie the Pooh, Little House on the Prairie, Little Women. We adored him. He taught us to snow and waterski, play tennis, sail, and read nautical maps. He helped us with our homework. His mantra in raising girls was “High school, college, marriage , babies” and we all did it that way. He died of lung cancer at the age of 49, meeting only one of his eight grandchildren but he would be so proud of them. All eight
    have graduated from college..in our children I see his legacy of love passed on to these wonderful young men and women who now are reading to children of their own.

    Reply
  9. suzanna

    awww, so wonderful ar Dads, my Father was a pilot…and a tenderheart protective soul, there is not a day that I don’t think how much I so wish to share my life with him…he is in my blood…..I miss him with all my heart !

    Reply
  10. martina

    Dad had a great voice but rarely sang unless it was a novelty song like Dingbat the Singing Cat or Abdul abulbul Amir. However sometimes he would sing “Down in the Valley” and when it came to the “Angels in heaven, know I love you” part he would look at me and I’d feel so very loved. Miss you and love you Dad, and always will. Corey, are so fortunate to have had wonderful fathers.

    Reply
  11. carol

    We both loved music. I was probably in high school or college. We were lying across my bed listening to an album not saying anything. We looked at each other and we both had tears in our eyes. I lost my father may 20th and I miss him so very much. Fair winds and following seas, Daddy.

    Reply
  12. Janet with Eiffel

    My father was the most horrible man
    I have ever known…………
    You are not alone in your painful memories.

    Reply
  13. Kate

    I am so envious, Corey, that you feel your dad’s presence sometimes! I never feel my mom’s presence, after nine years, though I believe (as opposed to knowing, that is) in life after death and in the continued or at least occasional presence of our loved ones around us.

    Reply
  14. Tongue in Cheek

    Dear Shelley,
    You are the rose. A rose. Beautiful as ever. I am sorry your Father did not treat you as such xxx

    Reply
  15. Tongue in Cheek

    Dear Janet,
    I am sorry to learn this. So unfair. Thinking of you xxx

    Reply
  16. Susan Davis

    Sweet stories. My mom and died both died in 2011, so my memories of missing them are fresh. One memory from when my children were young. My husband was going to graduate school in N. California for 7 weeks. It was a long way from Minnesota. It was hard to do it alone with little kids, so I booked a trip to visit him for a weekend with my mom and dad caring for the kids.This was in the 70’s and we didn’t fly much. My Dad drove me to the airport and insisted on coming in with me to check in. I told him he could go now, but he insisted on going to the gate with me and waited with me until I boarded. (this was allowed before 9/11). I waved goodbye to him from the jetway as he stood there and watched me board the aircraft. About 30 minutes later as our plane started to taxi, I looked out the window and saw my dad in the airport window standing there, waiting and watching for my plane to take off. My eyes filled with tears as I realized even though I was all grown up raising kids of my own, my dad loved me, protected me and cared about everything in my life, even taking off in an airplane. That memory stays with me always.

    Reply
  17. RebeccaNYC

    All of us kids piled into the bed, Dad in the middle, reading to us. Chronicles of Narnia or Wind in The Willows are the ones I remember the most. Later, Dad would read to Mom, sometimes late at night when she could not sleep. In her last days, he read her The Wind in The Willows. I still have my Dad, and he’s still reading.

    Reply
  18. Natalka

    Oh Corey, I love that story, I can almost see the cows myself! My Dad was an avid gardener, and one of my favorite memories is planting masses of annuals with him, after work, working faster and faster, as it got darker and darker, trying to get them all in before it got too dark to see.

    Reply
  19. La Contessa

    I love that story too!Wonderful memories………..I unfortunately do not have a lot of FUN memories.So, we will leave it at that.

    Reply
  20. Rebecca from the pacific northwest

    This (your story, and then all the others that your simple question engendered, both sweet and painful) is why I love your blog, Corey.
    Genuine.

    Reply
  21. Patti L

    My Dad loved to pick wild blueberries in the summer. He fashioned special buckets for us to attach to a belt, packed a picnic, and off the family went to pick blueberries in the country. We usually branched out, and one year we all returned to the car but Dad. When it got close to dusk, my Mom summoned help from a passerby on the road. My sister and I were taken home while a search went on through the night for him. The two of us laid together on the living room floor in front of the door under my grandmother’s watchful eye. We felt the potential for tragedy, but this story has a happy ending. He walked through that door in the early dawn.. blueberries will always remind me of the time we had to learn at a young age what loss might feel like.

    Reply
  22. Gina

    So many of my memories of growing up were of watching my dad fix things. He was so patient and used the phrase “waste not, want not”
    My Dad is still alive but has dementia. It is a halfway place between having the wonderful Dad I love and grieving for his passing. But he hasn’t, not quite yet.
    I fixed my oven today. It died about a month ago. I considered replacing it, I so wished I could ring Dad for advice on what might be wrong? Eventually I turned to google and eBay and fitted the new element myself today and it works! What I would give to ring Dad right now and tell him. He would be so proud.
    And then I read all the wonderful comments here and I know I am blessed. He was and is a wonderful man who raised me well. And although I don’t have the relationship with him that I want he does still know my voice. And I know I should just treasure that before it is gone.

    Reply
  23. monika

    My biological father, although I clearly have his genes, is something of a dud.
    But my dad, well, he’s my rock, my family, outside Pierre and the kids.
    When he first came into my life, I was 4, and I resented him, didn’t trust him. He would sit me on his lap, and I would bite his arm. There was also great resentment because on a hot car trip (back then there was no air conditioning in cars, and the seats were vinyl!), he drank my soda pop as I slept. Somehow, we got past that, and became best friends.
    At dinner, he taught me to debate and discuss politics. He’s the greatest storyteller, and has some harrowing tales of his own. We would have our little “projects” — for example, one Christmas I tried making gingerbread, but got a little too ambitious — I had planned German gingerbread people AND a gingerbread house worthy for an architect — three roofs and two balconies. I was in art school, at university, at the time, and thought I could handle any little project like this. After finishing the second batch of dough, I realized that the first had dried out. I started getting stressed — I needed to finish them as little Christmas gifts that night, as the next day I was flying to New York with my art class.
    My dad, who had been watching Gigi on tv, came to help (he could hear my mother screaming at me). He added water to the dough, and started helping me cut out the gingerbread people. The had hilariously goofy limbs because the dough became stretchy! There was so much dough, that we were up until 2 am cutting and baking, and laughing until tears were running down our cheeks.
    He has always been my rock.
    When I had my cancer surgery and was recuperating at home, by dad happened to live in the neighboring town (we had both moved cross country separately, and had wound up near each other), and came over every single day while my husband was at work in order to check on me, keep me company, and make me lunch. The man who can’t cook made me lunch every single day — it still brings tears to my eyes all these years later.
    I miss him every day, and call regularly, but wish he could be with us. We dearly wanted him to move in with us, but he found himself a lady friend, and moved in with her — in Prague. He’s known her since she was 19 years old, and they finally got together as retirees. Now, she has stage 4 cancer, and he is unable to come for a visit because he is taking care of her.
    And his name, by the way, is Sasha. 🙂
    Every day, I am grateful that he is my dad, and wonder what I ever would have done without him.

    Reply

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