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A Note About Dad

March 8, 2011


While drying between my toes after a bath the other night, I remembered how the four-year-old me used to stand on the closed toilet lid and hang onto the towel bar as you dried me off after my bath. “Left leg,” you’d say and I’d hold it out for you to dry. Each limb in turn.

You dried toes vigorously, and it’s that moment that strikes me. The thought of my own small toes in your large, towel-covered hand, how you meticulously dried each one, your brow slightly furrowed in concentration, how I could still feel the strength of your hand.

And I, standing tall on the toilet seat, obediently following your instructions, waiting for you to look up, pleased with yourself and me.



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  1. Jody Felter #
    March 8, 2011

    What a cute story! 🙂


  2. March 8, 2011

    xo to you, Dear.

  3. March 8, 2011

    Astonishing, and wonderful post evoking memory and how it rests, until provoked, then actually envelopes us in the reality of the beloved.

    • March 8, 2011

      Cheryl, thank you so much. Memory is such a wonder to me.

  4. rebecca #
    March 8, 2011

    I love this memory….as always, good stuff 🙂

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