Snow Days and Sundays
During our snow days, Kyle and I spent an awfully lot of time inside. Naturally. When we were chilling out on the couch this past Friday evening, Kyle asked if I would watch Billy Crystal's "700 Sundays" on HBO. Sure, I said. I was actually crocheting and doing other things, so I didn't really care what we watched, but soon after the show started, I was all in. I was laughing out loud, anxiously awaiting the next detail, and several times, I was ugly crying. This one-man show is a couple years old, but in my typical fashion, I am behind. It is Crystal's tribute to his father, who he got to spend roughly 700 Sundays with before he suddenly passed away. I have seen my husband cry only a handful of times in our 10 years together, and while he still didn't really cry out loud even for this, he said the words "I could bawl," which for him is essentially the same thing. Plus, he had already seen it once before, so this show was still touching for him even the second time around.
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Then, later this week, I was clicking around online and went to my husband's website. Four years ago, he wrote a piece about his dad's old home-place, and I read it over again, just for fun. Cue more tears. This piece is so special. It speaks of Sundays with family and embodies the same sort of heritage, humor and love for home as Crystal's stand-up show.
The earth, weeds and State of West Virginia had done its best to erase Dad’s homeplace. But we found it. And, of course, it was on a Sunday.
- "The Journey Home"
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Basically, anyone writing about his/her dad is going to bring me to tears. I'm not even going to go there with my dad, because if he is reading this, he's already weepy. To give you an idea, I chose the song I danced to with my dad on my wedding day ("Moon River") based on two things: it was pretty, and it was short. I had originally chosen "You Are My Sunshine" because it holds such poignant childhood memories, but after my sister nearly choked to death on her tears when I told her that, we decided to change it last minute. We didn't want my poor dad to be even more of a mess than he already was. So no, this isn't going to be my own tribute to my dad, but I will say this...
This past weekend, after watching Crystal's show and getting a little cabin fever, my brother came to rescue Kyle and me and we went to my parents' house for some throwback sleigh-riding action. Except this time our sleigh was a plastic tarp. And there was alcohol involved. Whatever works.
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While we were playing with wild abandon (I literally have bruises and woke up to texts from my siblings that read "So. Sore. Not even trying to get up." We beat the crap out of ourselves.) and sipping whiskey out of the bottle that stayed chilled in the snow, I suddenly wanted my dad to see us. I try not to get too sappy in real life (I save it for my writing) so I didn't say much to anyone, but there was something about sledding on the same hillside we used to play on when we were young. I couldn't tell you the last time I actually even walked on that part of the yard, much less played in the snow, but it was a blast. It allowed us to be kids again, to forget anything clouding our minds with worry. My parents watched us from the window. My dad helped me get my boots off when I came inside. My mom cooked us dinner. We played rummy and drank hot chocolate.
It wasn't a Sunday, but it still felt like home.
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