“My pawpaw always said if you think real hard…”
He says with a mirthful look in his eye.
The dice rattle softly inside his cupped hand,
He releases them in a flurry of motion,
They clatter to the table and we all look down.
A double six,
Dad has won the game.
We groan with the sinking knowledge,
That the victory dance is coming.
I watch as he springs to his feet and hollers out, “Booyah!”
My sister and I roll our eyes,
But the laughter is bubbling up.
He shows off his lifelong position as the class clown,
With a song and a dance as he bounds across the living room.
I don’t want to indulge him,
With his victory dance and songs of his greatness,
But I know that my dad,
In his Auburn tigers house shoes,
Has never failed to make me laugh.
But one of my favorite things about dad,
With his camo and deer calls,
Is his stories.
My bedtime stories didn’t come from paper books,
They came from my dad who always had something new.
His book was ever-changing,
It grew every single day.
Some stories he saves for later with a laugh and a reply,
“I’ll tell you when you’re married.”
There are still hundreds of stories,
I’ve never heard the same one twice,
And he always finds a way to weave in a life lesson.
“Now don’t ever do this, but…” the story will begin,
This is how I know I’m about to hear a doozy,
But these stories are my favorite,
And I love to hear him tell them.
One day, I hope, I can have stories like his.
Stories that make you laugh or cry.
Stories that teach people about life,
But until that day comes,
I’m happy to listen,
Because I know Dad’s stories are worth every second.