I Want To Be Like Dad

I remember wearing my dad’s work boots when I was a little kid. The tops his boots came to my knees. I clopped around the house carrying his big lunch box which I had filled with Little Debbie’s Snack Cakes telling people that I was going to work. I could barely stand up in dad’s boots. My dad taught me to work hard. He was a telephone lineman and I can remember times when the phone would ring in the middle of the night. A storm had brought down the lines on some windy ridge and dad would be called out with his partner to restore service. In the days before mobile phones a downed line could be a matter of life and death for people with health issues. As I began to grow I became obsessed with the day I would be as tall as dad. I would beg him to stand back to back with me so mom could compare our height. It was dad who first taught me hunt. I can still see him knelt down on the old logging road pointing out the difference between buck and doe tracks. As the years passed my dad imparted a lot of the attributes that make me who I am today. And, even though I’m several inches taller than he is I still can’t fill his shoes.