It hits me like flashes: My two sons when they were back in elementary school, walking towards me after the dismissal bell, holding hands.
Then, massive mental rewind to when I was their age. My own dad, sipping whiskey at the dinner table, sharing our early days as a family when he only had a few bucks to pick up a soon-to-be-trashed Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. But he found one, and we put tin garlands around it. Supposedly, I ran in circles around the living room and cheered. I was – still am – nuts. After Dad shared that memory, I saw him wipe his eyes.
I wanted to wipe my eyes when I saw my own boys. They're not nuts. They're way gentler than me. Thinking of that day at their elementary school, and my father trying to be stoic, makes me feel warm and mellow like his whiskey. So thankful for memories.