Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Growing Up

When I think of you I think of your big hands, like baseball mitts. 
Our breakfasts together, slowly dripping honey over a bowl of cheerios in the morning. 
You slicing bananas with your pocket knife. 
Its funny to me that after all of these years and through all of these situations, that you haven’t changed at all. 
You still use that pocket knife for everything.
I remember the smell of the glue you would use after a bad night. 
Gluing on the end of the table that gave in to your pounding fists. 
You still whistle all day long and your enormous key collection still jingles from your belt as you walk. 
I miss seeing you walking towards me with your head cocked to one side, eyes squinting in the sun. Smelling of simple orange and old spice. 
Your Sunday ties. 
Sitting in the recliner with your glasses on snickering over books I would never read. 
Books about the President, books about how things used to be. 
Only pausing to tell me exactly why this country is going to shit. 
I miss your stories about being young and wild , when the price rose to 60 cents you threw your pack of cigarettes out of the car window and never bought another pack. 
I used to pick you flowers every afternoon and wait to hear the crunching of the gravel under your tires as you pulled up. 

Growing up complicates things in ways I never expected. Everything gets crowded with things that shouldn't matter. Every year a new calloused layer forms,separating us, distancing people further and further until I'm just not sure of anything

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