For him to waggle those eyebrows at me. I remember
squealing with laughter so hard that one time I fell right off his
knee. One time, he even cracked a smile.
My parents’ deck is beautiful. It’s huge, borders a hot
tub, and has some pretty expensive patio furniture on it.
There’s an outdoor cooking center and behind that, a huge
pool and a massive strip of lawn. I think the backyard sold
them on the house, actually. Mom loves to be doing stuff
outside. Dad loves to grill, but more than that, he loves to sit
back here after dinner and smoke his pipe.
We sit down across from each other in the massive
patio chairs. The cushion beneath me is softer than any
outdoor furniture cushion has a right to be. Mom is obsessive
compulsive about those cushions. She’s always bringing them
in when it’s raining or too sunny. We live in Phoenix. It’s
always too sunny. I keep telling her that the fabric is meant to
withstand a crap load of direct sunlight, but she keeps telling
me that’s no excuse not to bring them in when they’re not in
use. It extends their life, she likes to point out. She obviously
expected that we’d head back here after dinner, because the
cushions were ready and waiting for us.
The one habit Mom was never able to get Dad to give
up is his pipe. It’s funny that I can’t stand the scent of
cigarettes or cigars, but I love the scent of Dad’s pipe. He
loves that thing. I’m not at all surprised to see him pull it out.
He lights it up and the fragrant smell of pipe tobacco floods
past me. It brings back memories of childhood. Of Christmas.
Of Thanksgiving. Of summer. All of those memories are good
memories. I had a great childhood. My dad worked hard and
my mom worked every bit as hard too, but there was always