March 16, 2004
"What do you want your son to remember about you?"
That came from my comments and I'm happy to answer that question. I want my son to remember me as the man who always kept the booger-man away when he was frightened. I want him to remember me as the one who taught him to throw a football, the one who taught him to catch and the one who told him to rub some dirt on his wounds when he fell down crying.
I want him to remember me as the one who taught him to cut a green stick to roast hot-dogs over an open fire in the woods ("Make sure it has a fork on it") and I want him to remember the ghost stories I told at night. I want him to remember my favorite line that I always used when I spun outrageous yarns designed to frighten kids around a campfire: "Look at this face. Would I lie to you about something like that?"
"YES! That's what you do best!"
I want him to remember the times I tucked him in at night and cooked him my famous Lumberjack Breakfasts in the morning. I want him to remember the times I announced, "Oops! I just tripped," and fell on him for some hugs and wrestling.
I want him the remember how proud I was of that BEAUTIFUL kickoff return he made last football season. I want him to remember how we practiced spelling tests. I want him to remember me reading him the first three Harry Potter books at the kitchen table before the divorce.
I want him to remember me with love.
That's all I ask.
All content © Rob Smith