Guitars and Catfish

One of my favorite and, sadly, most impressionable memories of my daddy is from my adult life. And, when I reflect on the memories like the one I'm about to share, I am especially longing for MORE TIME with him. I find myself grieving The Potential. You know what I mean. The kind of pre-emptive grief. The kind where, as an individual, you become severely ill at a fairly young age and most of your sadness about dying or being in a state of dimished incapacitation evolves around such potentials as "I won't live long enough to seem my grandchildren", or "He won't get to walk her down the aisle or dance the father-daughter dance at the reception". You know. THOSE.

Now that he's gone, I've realized how few memories I have of him. Sadder even still that I have even fewer of he and I *together*.

One of the few I have, I treasure. Thankfully it's because I was able to witness him in his element, and that in of itself, brought me joy.

My father loved golf, playing cards, Old Grand Dad mixed with Coca-Cola, and fishing. In his retirement, he spent a lot of time running a trot line. I guess that's a lazy-way-of-fishing.

Anyway, Daddy would clean the fish and share it with the patrons and his friends at this bar in San Angelo called The Saddle Bronc. In the back of the bar, there was an open area where he and his buddies would deep fry catfish and hushpuppies. During those times, a buddy of his would be pickin' the guitar and they'd all sing old country songs. We'd all sit around eating Bud-caught catfish, singing and laughing. I was in my mid-twenties then....

When he'd stop cooking, he'd find a spot to sit, have a drink in his hand and nibble on the catfish. If a song was being sung that he didn't know the words to, he'd have his eyes closed with a little smile on his face. His foot would tap to the beat, legs crossed. And then, once in a rare while, I'd steal a glance from him that bore a twinkle in his eye meant for no one else but me.

I see it now. I do. And it makes me weep. I grieve that my children will not know the twinkle from his eyes meant for only each of them. And they won't have their Papa to dance with at their weddings. My Daughters will not get to see Papa fry catfish and sing old country tunes.

....The Potential.