When I think of my father I see… The free flowing waves of smooth jazz in vivid blue and grey hues. I see white, yellow and purple intertwined in a symphony that only Miles Davis could conduct. I see imported beer being casually sipped. The flavor mixing with the after taste of olives and grilled chicken. I see a man when I think of my father.
A stimulating hue of light brown and red, vibing to whatever he wants. Free of any care, or so it seems. Behind those dark shades could perhaps lie troubled eyes, a troubled soul. A never broken spirit exudes from his hugs. That smile. Beautifully flawed in all the right places. I don’t know what I’d do without this image.
Not perfect, but perfectly imperfect. When I think of my father, I see… Off-white linen shorts with a matching shirt. Small gold chain that says, yes, I have it all. I See a watch for every outfit, wonderfully selected to get him wherever he needs to be, 20 minutes late. Naïve as to why everyone is giving him “the look” when he reaches his destination.
I see a nonchalant aura of sea green and peach dancing around his head. Hiding the red and black that attempts to bubble to the surface. He stares at his children with visible pride. That son of his gets to him; thank God his daughters provide sweet kisses to dull that nagging sense of “it’s never enough.” When I think of my father, I envision a man.