Memories of Lives Past

As I sit here on my bed waiting for my NyQuil to kick in and tossing spent Kleenex on the floor, two memories come whirling at me.

First, the tossing of spent Kleenex onto the floor is something I picked up from my daddy. If you don't know, I adored my daddy. He made me think I had some intrinsic value. No one else, until John Ross, gave me that sense. Daddy had severe hay fever (as we called it in those days). I can remember his lying on the bed, head propped up on a pillow, white handkerchief lying at the ready on his chest, waiting for the next sneeze or blowing of his nose. And what a nose he had! My brothers joke about being glad they didn't inherit Daddy's schnoz.

I was talking to my friend, Bill, in Fredericksburg, VA, last night. He has two grown daughters whom he adores, and the feeling is mutual. I've been with him in various European cities as he bought gifts for his daughters. All I can say is "Wow"! The man has a gift for giving. In the course of our conversation last night, he asked how my mother is doing and when I might come east again. I shared with him how I don't enjoy my visits to my mother. I call her daily and visit her once or twice a year because it's the right thing to do. Truthfully, I am relieved when she doesn't answer my morning calls because she's out shopping or walking or whatever. Whenever I spend more than 48 hours with her, I'm thirteen years old again, gawky and dumb, ugly & incompetent. But it was never that way with my daddy. And Bill and his daughters share a similar bond. Is it the opposite sex parent bond?

So to the other memory that came to me so strongly tonight and made me laugh out loud. Do you know the plural of Kleenex? This is such a classic John Ross-ism. I'll tell you after TJ and Ty weigh in — I want to know if they remember this at all. It's one of a whole basketful of warm memories of a joy-filled man.