My
father brought a CD with this
song on it home one day. He sat my younger sister and I down, and made us listen to it. I did, with the
cynicism of fourteen, "That's good, dad, but it's really corny!" But I really liked it, I did, it was my duty to play the
teenager. To be
too cool for
everything, especially
emotions. And my
pride kept me from ever admitting that I actually liked the song, just as it kept me from ever admitting that I actually liked the
tuna casserole my mother made after the
night I decided to pretend that I didn't, just to be
contrary. Ah, what we put our
parents through. My dad would play it, I'd sigh, perhaps I would roll my eyes, but would listen with
a smile once no one was looking.
I can no longer pretend to listen to this song unmoved.
That is because I can't listen to it anymore without crying.
We played it at his funeral, along with Butterfly Kisses that he said reminded him of us. The farthest I can ever make it...is here:
I see friends shaking hands
Saying How do you do
They're really saying
I love you
Because it's my dad saying "I love you." Always.