Dream of Dad

Ever since my dad passed away, I’ve pretty much been unable to dream about him.  I’m not sure why, exactly.  My sibs, mom and I have talked about it, and it sounds like my experience is definitely the outlier in the family, as I’ve only dreamed about him a couple of times. 

Well, last night I had a dad dream.  We were up on Leech Lake fishing, and were in his boat.  He looked as he typically looked when we were up there – needed a shave and a shower, wearing crappy shorts, crappy shoes, an undershirt, and chomping on a stogie.  Prototypical dad. 

Fishing was quiet, and I was getting frustrated, not only due to the lack of fish, but I remember dad playing some tape of a band that I wasn’t appreciating.  As I was reeling in, I noticed a massive northern pike following my lure, and by jerking it around I was able to elicit a mighty bite. 

We landed the fish – he was clearly the largest fish I every caught.  I remember being consciously thankful that dad was there to help me land the fish, share in the moment (he wouldn’t have believed how big it was had he not been there), and allow for a moment for him to be proud of me.  I guess no matter how old I get, I still subtlety long for that feeling you get when a parent is proud of you. 

I awoke with a smile, thankful for the rare dream.  Unfortunately, I woke to a barking, hungry dog, fourteen (yes, fourteen) degrees, and over a foot of snow that based on the long term forecast won’t be melting until we’re a couple of weeks into April. 

What a turnaround, where the dream was pleasant, and reality a nightmare.  Almost always it’s the other way around.