Hush Now, Child

I remember being six years old visiting my dad in his tiny trailer in Little Mountain, SC.

It's easy to admit openly that I hated it there. I didn't have any friends near by, the trailer was right in front of a cow pasture so it smelled so bad your nose stung.

My dad was, and still is, a big guy so at night when I wore his t-shirts they would brush against my ankles when I walked. On Saturdays I would stay in those t-shirts all day long if we didn't have any plans.

I remember the days when I would wake up to rain pounding on the roof. I'd get out of bed, go into the living room, and I'd always see my dad sitting in his old orange recliner. I would dance in the center of the room for what seemed like hours. Twirling around so the t-shirts swooshed behind me. We would laugh together and I think that's what I remember most. Us laughing. Then I'd dance some more. No music, just the pitter patter of rain above our heads hitting that tin roof.

I'd sit on the floor and dig my toes into his cream coloured carpet while we talked about the dreams I had the night before. We'd laugh some more and then he would get up and carry on with his day.

In retrospect these memories seem silly. I don't even know if he rememberes any of thi, but I do and I think that's the stuff worth remembering.

Any asshole can look back and remember all of the recitals unattended, the birthdays passed without recognition, or the insults haphazardly heaved. But it's something else to allow one of the most painful relationships in your life to be pretty sometimes too.

I think that's probably one of the biggest parts of growing up.