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Dad's Grin
Dad's Grin.jpg

Dad looks over at me…and slowly a mischievous grin lights his face. Memories stir within me… 

Ø    Dad gathering the children together, opening the front door of the house and standing with us to watch the majesty of a thunder storm raging….

 Ø    Dad sitting astride Trixie, the dappled gray mare, as she danced about in circles…

 Ø    Dad lying flat on his back on the floor and lifting us high above his head…

 Ø    Dad waltzing around the kitchen with Mom, who was valiantly still trying to make supper…

 Ø    Dad proudly holding up the most recent newborn…

 Ø    Dad lining up the children according to age to take pictures at a scenic lookout…

 Ø    Dad using the broken end of a car antenna to point out a faraway country on the map above the kitchen table…

 Ø    Dad filming the rugged beauty north of Lake Superior as Mom steadily drove….

 Ø    Dad telling the story of how he caught a silver dollar, built the barn with his brother, Rob, or the time he played hooky from school…

 Ø    Dad grinning…so proud of us,

…so full of health,

                       …living, laughing, loving.

 Sometimes now, I wonder just where my Dad is. I look at the frail elderly man in a wheelchair. Unable to help himself, he is dependent on others for all his needs. His thin hands tremble. He seldom speaks. He stiffly follows a walker painstakingly slow, teetering first to the left and then to the right.

And then, he catches my eye, his blue eyes twinkle and he grins. And for a split second, time melts away and I can see Dad so clearly again. I whisper, "I love you, Dad!” And slowly, hesitantly, he whispers back, “I…love…you…” and he grins. He’s my Dad.

In loving memory of H. Ross Bustard

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