It’s funny in the peculiar way that it sneaks up on you; the way it pops up in random, ridiculous, completely unrelated moments, to remind you of something beautiful when you least expect it and yet most need it.
It’s been a rough couple of days for me, and my thoughts have often been on my father, and the way the holidays have magnified his absence.
Tonight I was at the grocery store trying to look for a Christmas ham, but this guy in front of me (possessing very little self-awareness), was digging wildly through them and blocking all access. As I tried in vain to squeeze in around him, I couldn’t help but see that he sported a massive “plumber’s crack”, which was now perched over the meat case, as if reduced for quick for sale.
As my eyes fell upon his snow-white, not-ready-for-primetime cheeks, I immediately thought about the time 16 years ago when my dad was driving me from Syracuse to college in Philly, and we stopped at this diner just off the highway that had awesome homemade pies. The man next to our booth sitting just feet away at the bar that afternoon, was showing off his own “major crevice”.
My father motioned over to make sure I saw it (as it f I could miss it; I’m pretty sure you could see that thing from a hot air balloon) and proceeded to covertly snap a photo of it. We giggled like middle school girls, fighting unintentional urination, and in the time well before Instagram and of Photomat, we endured a long week, waiting to get the photos back. When we opened up the envelope, we laughed ourselves stupid all over again; quite pleased with ourselves for capturing a stranger’s posterior for, posterity.
It became one of many private jokes we shared.
I still have the photo somewhere, and right now I feel like tearing apart the attic to find it. It now feels like a delayed Christmas gift; a reminder of my father’s incredible silliness, of the countless such moments when we shared joy, finding humor in the ridiculousness of ordinary days.
The laugh lines on my face are testimonies to his legacy of laughter in my life.
So last night, I did laugh as I walked through the grocery store with tears in my eyes, thinking about my dad with great sweetness, all because the guy looking at the ham didn’t care to use a belt.
Thank you kind stranger; for giving me back a sweet memory of my father that I’d totally lost, even if you had to become the butt of a joke to do it.
Yeah, Grief is funny.
