This Sunday
is Father’s Day. When my sister and I
were growing up, neither my dad nor my mom made a big deal of the days
dedicated in their honor. Nevertheless,
this will be the 15th Father’s Day since he died in 2003.
I was with
Banu at a craft store this past week when I saw something that brought a memory
to mind. I don’t remember exactly what I
was looking at! I think it was an
activity book for kids. The thing is,
the memory just resurfaced, and I was drawn to it.
At times in life—and
this is true more so for some than others—we have moments that touch
eternity. Time stands still, or so it
seems. When I was fourteen, I had such
an experience on a late afternoon while sitting in a chair in our living room,
while my father was sitting over on the sofa.
Explanatory
note: For several years when I was young, I was a devoted reader of comic
books. (I always thought Marvel was
better than DC!) On this particular
afternoon, my dad was reading one of my comic books. (I don’t remember which one it was, so I
posted images of two of my favorite superheroes, with issues of their books
from that year.)
It was one of
those moments when streaming bright shafts of sunlight draw the curtain on
specks of dust.
Each time my
dad flipped a page, I heard the rustle of the paper as it slipped through his
fingers. There was just enough friction
to make an insistent hush… —shhhift—
—shhhift—
It was 30
seconds (or was it 30 minutes?) between —shhhift—
and —shhhift— In real time the whole experience lasted 15,
maybe 20, minutes. But could I call it a
taste of the eternal? I didn’t want it to
end.
