Unspoken Conversations

When my father died, one of the things that bothered me the most was the idea that I'd never talk to him again. I couldn't imagine never hearing his opinions or even arguing, when I didn't agree with them (which was frequent).

Eighteen months later, I still miss that. I still miss discussing what's going on in the world, hearing his take. But one thing I've noticed is that, though I can't actually tlak to him, sometimes I can hear in my head what he might have said if he were still here.

I lived with him for 20 years after all, I got to know his opinions pretty well and sometimes I just know what he would have said. This week, especailly that's been happening a lot.

When I was at the Hockey Hall of Fame, I could imagine talking to him and him asking me about the "Four F's" dressing room. Also bugging me to know what I brought him, becasue heaven forbid I go to Toronto and not buy him something.

Then, today when I heard that Eric LIndros had finally become a Leaf, I could almost hear my father in my head. Of course, that might be becasue we talked about the subject a few times in the past, whenerver it was speculated that Lindros might finally come to Toronto.

My father was not a fan of the idea. He wasn't a Lindros fan, even though my mother were and still are. Daddy thought Eric Lindros was highly over-rated and the argument could go on for sometime.

Today, i heard that arguemnet in my head as strongly as if it had actually happened. that felt good, like a part of me is still connected to my father even though he's gone. I need that.

The Hockey Hall of Fame

-edited from Misha's Strange Wonderings:

Today Meg and I hung out, went shopping. Then I convinced her to go with me to the Hockey Hall of Fame, which is always fun. Though, it was a tiny bit sad. It was just one of those times when I really missed my dad.

The last time I was at the HHOF, I bought my dad his beloved Bruins shot glass and I promised him I'd buy him either a Blackhawks or Wild shot glass next time. Of course, by the time next time rolled around he'd been gone almost eighteen months.

That wasn't the only time I missed him. In the replica Montreal Canadiens dressing room, I had a strong wave of nostolgia/sorrow. I remembered the first time I ever visited in the HHOF and him telling me to spit on the floor (which he had done when he visited a few months earlier).

Also, just being there reminded me of him. My mother was a big part of my love of the game (she's a more rabid than my father ever was), but my father gave me the love of knowledge. Every stat, every story that I've absorbed, well that's all him. He had the same intesnsity about anything he liked, the same ability to absorb whatever he heard, though he did call me a dork for how much information I chose to absorb--still, I know taht secretly he loved it.

Sometimes it amazes me how much I still miss him, but it shouldn't. My father was very important to me and he helped make me who I am today. Missing him is natural and it would be worse if I didn't miss him, at least I think so.

Little Things

Little things can set you off, ya know? Tonight I was going through an old notebook of mine, when suddenly there was page in writing other than my own.

It was a page full of football stats that was foreign to me, I couldn't have begin to have told you what it means, but I reconised the wriitng (well printing) instantly. It was my father's.

My father was constantly writing down football statistics, always needing to know exactly where every team in the NFL stood every week. So, he'd write down how many wins and losses every team had and he'd update it every week.

I inherited that trait from him, not with football, but I find myself doing it with hockey. During hockey season, I have millions of pieces of paper with hockey stats all over it. In fact, it that same notebook, there's a couple pages in my writing, detailing how every team in the leafgue was doing at that moment.

I figure it was the result of twenty years with my dad. Like me, he liked having everything out in front of him, writing it down to make it clearer. As I looked at this piece of paper, I could see him in my mind, writing down those numbers and then later--reciting them off at the top of his head.

I never had to pay much attention to what was going on the NFL, all I had to do was ask Daddy. If I wanted to know what was going on, he'd just recite off the order of all the teams. I miss that. Last season, I kept having to struggle to figure out where everyone was in the standings, because I couldn't just ask my dad.

So, yeah it was just a little piece of paper I found, but it was such a part of what my dad special. It was just such a Rick thing, that it made me sentimental. You miss the little things as much as the big things, you really do.