Missing my Dad

It's the stupid things.  The little things.  The things that don't seem to mean anything until they really really do.  Those are the things that make you miss someone the most.

After I moved back home with my then infant son, my Dad and I became closer than we had been when I had "run away" from home to follow in his footsteps and join the Navy.  I am almost the spitting image of my Dad, except I have blonde wavy hair, not black.  We were lucky enough to share very similar personalities- the storytelling, the wit, the analytical mind, the ability to think spatially.  It made for a lively friendship and sometimes some heated arguments.

We also loved the same kind of movies.  Westerns, wars, "make your feet sweat" action flicks.  He raised me on John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Randolph Scott and later we watched Mel Gibson, Robert Duvall, Sam Elliot, and Tommy Lee Jones.  If the movie was especially good, we would reenact our favorite scenes for my Mom (who would have left the room within the first 5 minutes of any grittiness).

My priest, Father Aaron, worked "Band of Brothers" into one of his homilies recently.  It was one of my Dad's favorite series to watch.  So much so that I got him the entire series on DVD for a birthday present when it came out.  He loved it.  We never sat together to watch the whole thing, but we did watch some episodes together.

Tonight, I tucked in the Kiddo and looked at the DVD shelf to choose a good Saturday night flick.  Mom wasn't here, so I had my pick.  I pulled Band of Brothers off the shelf and opened the case for the first time in over 3 years.  I looked at the discs, read the episode titles, and closed it all back up.  I'm not ready yet to watch "Band of Brothers" yet.  Because it really is the little things that can hurt the most sometimes.