Brave

December 20th, 2014

Sometimes I don’t feel very brave. What is that? Nature doesn’t feel brave anymore so than I do, but then, it knows no fear either. Waves crash, trees fall, thunder booms. Stars shine, the sun rises, flowers bloom and more trees grow.

I visited my dad in October. He fought in WWII bombing the enemy out of Italy into Germany. Talk about brave. Then he came home and married my mother…more bravery. Then of course he launched his own company not having a clue about win or lose. He just did it. It frightens me to think of that.

I grew up in a house with fish tanks in the den, along with hundreds of books, a piano and a sister who played (and still plays) the cello. At night, especially on Sundays, I would listen to my dad, from my bedroom, just down the hall from the den, as he watched Ed Sullivan. One time, he called me out of bed to come watch with him. How did he knew I’d love this and laugh as much as he did? How’d he know that we knew how to have fun like that? Mother wasn’t amused, but I didn’t care. I was getting away with something (being out of bed passed my bed-time…naughty) and watching tv (passed my bed-time and again, naughty.) Who knew that my dad was conspiring with Ed Sullivan just to get me out of bed for some laughs?

 

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