...Life's good on our boat.
That's part of the chorus to another one of my favorite Jimmy songs. And on Father's Day, what more appropriate song than "Delaney Talks to Statues"?
My dad celebrated his 20th Father's Day this year...or maybe his 21st if he counts when my mom was pregnant with me. It's a little surreal to think about...
I'm writing this entry tonight from what used to be my bedroom, and is now my dad's home office. (The wifi at our house hasn't been working on my computer for a few days, so to check Facebook (and other gravely important things), I've been having to come back to the office).
As I sit here and look around the room, I think back to my childhood and the transformation that this room has been through. The multi-colored striped window curtains that my grandmother made for me when I was a little girl still hang in the windows, and the bright teal-colored walls are still the same. But instead of little-girl artwork and paintings, they are now adorned with Daniel A. Moore's "The Catch" from the 1998 National Championship (Tennessee over FSU, 23-16), a University of Tennessee diploma, numerous Associated Press and Alabama Sports Writers Association honors and awards, and several sports pictures. The closet that used to hold my dresses and baby-doll outfits now holds a TV, filing cabinets, media guides, and stacks and stacks of CDs. The carpet has been removed and is now a hardwood floor.
The "look" of the room has certainly changed, but the memories will always stay the same. I can still remember exactly where all of the furniture used to be. I remember waking up in the middle of the night when I was only 3 1/2 or 4 years old and hearing my baby sister crying from her room next to mine. I remember stacking my stuffed animals up neatly on my bed after I first learned how to make it up properly. I remember getting my first big-kid desk to do my homework on. I remember the night that our sweet old dog Wilson got stuck under my dresser because he was so scared of the thunderstorm and we couldn't get him out until the next morning. And I remember my sister and I coming up with secret knocking codes so we could "talk" to each other through the walls after my mom made us go to sleep at night. Memory after memory comes flooding back, and just for a second, I feel like it's my room again.
In middle school I got to trade this room for the one on the other side of the house that had it's own bathroom. I was tired of sharing one with my sister and Dad agreed that it'd be OK. After new carpet and a fresh coat of paint, his old office was mine and that was the end of my little room at the back of the house...
Sitting here tonight, I was browsing the internet and getting ready to get off and go to sleep when I noticed a picture frame hiding behind the edge of the computer monitor on the top of the desk. It's a picture I've seen a thousand times, but yet one that today put a smile on my face and gave me a lump in my throat...it's of me and my dad when I was probably no more than four or five. We're on the sofa together and he's got me under his arm. The look on my face says that he was probably tickling me. And the look on his says he couldn't be happier.
This was my room when I was that age. I'm older now and I have a bigger room. My dad's older too. And yet, I don't think that look on his face has ever really gone away.
The days of sitting on the sofa under his arm and getting tickled have gone away...but the man in the picture will always be my Daddy. And just like that look on his face, that will never really go away.
"Father, daughter, down by the water...Shells sink, dreams float, life's good on our boat..."
