oldnumberseven

My father knew maps, and he knew the roads of Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania,  and West Virginia.  He died on Saturday June 18, father’s day was Sunday June 19, and I turned an old man on Monday June 20.  The funeral was on June 24, and they had an honor guard there that fired a 21 gun salute in three volleys.  The fellow that gave the eulogy was not a very good speaker, but we all forgave him, due to his sincerity.  My father worked in the oil and gas fields in Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and West Virginia, and this is why he knew those states, and the roads of those states.  He could tell you of many of the back roads of those states, and the numbers of those roads.  My father’s philosophy when driving along, and the interstate became crowded, or was delayed, was to take the back road.  He said, ‘Well, as long as we are going north…,’ or whichever compass point we headed towards, and I adopted this, and it made a few of my traveling companions angry at times.  But, I believe I have been forgiven, and hope that I have, even if I have not. Funerals are a funny thing.  Funerals are for the living.  The funeral was for the dead when they gave the salute, played taps, folded the flag, and presented it to my mother.  My father had not been in the army since the fifties when he was an Airborne Ranger, and made thirteen parachute jumps.  These youngsters that made up his honor guard did not differentiate between the Korean conflict and a declared war.  It was then, though, that I wished my family was not tea-totallers, I could have used a whiskey. Friday June 17, I spent at the hospital and read Dylan Thomas aloud, and wished for something that wasn’t to be.  Since then I have criss-cossed West Virginia, and Ohio by the back roads to avoid the delays of construction, and to make good time.  I made good time from the roads I was taught as a youngster.