Okay, maybe it’s because it just a day for remembering, or maybe it was the smell of my baby-girl’s hair this morning, but something triggered this…


I must have been three or four years old…I’m taking a nap with my dad, resting in the crook of his arm. It’s a warm afternoon. I can smell the comforting aroma of old-spice, and brill cream, and cigarettes…I’m dozing off to sleep.


It’s a sensory memory, triggered whenever I smell the combination of two or more of the above. Feeling safe…like my dad is the biggest guy in the world, and he’s watching out for me while I sleep.




It seems like too young to remember, but I do. I’m sure it happened before they divorced (age 4) as I doubt we took any naps together after he moved out.


That means he was five years younger than I am now.


My next memory is my mother crying, and me running out to the parking lot and screaming, “I hate you!” at my father’s retreating car. I didn’t hate him, I didn’t even know what was going on, I just wanted to help my mom.


God, how that must have hurt him.

It was never mentioned, so I guess can live with the idealistic hope that he didn’t hear.

It’s amazing how memories can fade, but guilt lingers.

The idea of hearing that from my own daughter…


I wonder what my girl will remember, thirty-eight years from now…







*And…yes…I hear Tom Hanks whenever I think if this song, lol. (Scattered PIC..tures…ofthewaywewere…)