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I Canoe; do you? By James Callahan The day I wore Canoe cologne Was the day my mom didn't recognize me As if she forgot who I was And didn't remember the trouble I'd be Every day around our home. How I'd laugh, goof and fight With sister and brothers even when told To stop or she'd go crazy But I wouldn't and she seemed fine 'til old -I wonder if she was right? The bottle belonged to my dad And I found it at the back of a closet A last memento of him -his smell so hale and hardy, I knew it and put it on because I was sad. He died more than thirty years since And mom had made it on her own with all Of us to support and love Working and crying and we'd try to recall His face, hands, beard, smile and wince. I feared losing what I knew of him As years passed and life changed as we grew And he wasn't here to see What we were doing, but our mom knew How I'd grown from Jimmy to Jim And married and had kids with my wife just like he did and mom said Dad'd be so pleased with what I'd become and I had to take her word and know she'd remember, connect, his to my life But now dementia and her aging years Were taking from me just as they were robbing her Of my memories, her life And what it was like when, and there's no cure To regain both our joys and tears She's resting most of each day And takes her pills, a little food, chitchat About the time and weather -Not today's, and thinks the dog is a cat so I stay quiet as long as I stay She's napping now and that's my cue I kiss her on the cheek and say it's Jim And she says Dad's name Because she says I smell just like him That's why I Canoe; do you? About the author: James Callahan, Ph.D. pastoral worker in Wheaton, Illinois, adjunct professor of religion at Elmhurst College, married 24 years, father of five beautiful children, lifelong Chicago resident. | | | |
First Person Archive Most recent: 2008 August July June May April March February January 2007 December November October September August July June May April March February January 2006 December September Submit Your First Person Story A while back, we invited listeners to send us a short story or a poem about their homes for a feature called "Stories from Home." We're resurrecting this feature, but we're calling it "First Person" a place for you to give us your stories, poems, or short fiction. | |
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