Just a Perfect Day
“You’re going to reap just what you sow.”
“Um, excuse me?”
“You’re going to reap just what you sow.” And he says it three more times.
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“You’re going to reap just what you sow.”
“Um, excuse me?”
“You’re going to reap just what you sow.” And he says it three more times.
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He thumbed yesterday’s newspaper, penlessly crossed out the employers he had called on. “Why did they place the ads if they aren’t hiring?” There were no more circles for him to cross out tomorrow.
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Some memories are of photographs and not the incident itself, but some feel to the rememberer like they are of a photo, with the details so clear and so accessible. There is one memory … I could count the rocks in the creek bed if I would just take the time.
My father was born 80 years ago this Saturday. If August 15, 1935, is known for anything, it is not the birth of my dad but for it being the date Will Rogers and Wiley Post died when Post crashed their airplane north of the Arctic Circle near Point Barrow, Alaska. (They may be the first celebrities to have perished in a plane crash.)
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