It’s the 60th day of summer break, the 53rd day of my new knee, and my dad was right.
The other night I was picking up O after band camp and I opened the rear door so she could put away her bass drum. And she said,
“It won’t fit!” O sounded frustrated.
“Turn it on its side.” I responded.
She did and it fit. When she climbed into the passenger seat she asked,
“Dad, why do you have to be right all the time?”
“I’m not right ALL the time.” I smiled gently and replied with a emphasis on ALL.
“I’m just right some of the time,” I continued.
And the conversation shifted to how band camp had gone that day and what she had learned.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad lately. More so than normal. He passed away nine summers ago and I don’t think there has been a day when something about him or something he said or wrote has been far from my thoughts, but lately his wisdom has been in the forefront.
Dad was a marine, or I should write is a marine. W heads off for boot camp in less than two weeks and I think dad’s wisdom about what he learned from being in the Marine Corps has been on my mind, but also dad’s advice about learning and health.
