Tomorrow R has to do a presentation in his English class about an older relative of his. This relative is supposed to be alive, a requirement he skirted because he wanted to talk about my dad who died when I was 18, long before he was born. Somehow R stumbled upon a photo of my dad's plane in WWII falling out of formation, full of bullet holes. Apparently after the bombers dropped the bombs, they were required to take a picture, so that's what the picture was supposed to be of. And indeed, you can see the bombs, but my dad's plane was also there. I think my dad told me that their plane was badly enough damaged that they really should have ejected, but being over enemy territory they were too afraid, so they nursed the plane to safety. Lucky for me!
I wonder if it was that picture that drew R to my dad. Maybe that picture is a part of why R wants to be a pilot himself. Anyway, R needed to ask me all the questions about him that he couldn't ask my dad himself. That was my happy moment, remembering myself all the wonderful qualities about my dad, retelling the few stories he told me about his childhood and years in the war, how my mom and dad met, and life with him as a kid.
I'm so sorry he never had a chance to meet my kids. He would have loved to go to the boys' baseball and hockey games. L's dance recitals maybe not so much, but he would have loved just knowing and being around all the kids.
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