Soaring Over the Mighty

It was something I’d thought to do or a while.  If my friend good friend visits, I’d like him to meet my dad.  I talk about business every week with my pop and this friend is a central figure in all that.  He’s also a fine mind and one my father would enjoy engaging with, I was certain.  My pal and my gal had ended up chatting late into the evening.  I’d gone to bed early.  About fifteen minutes before my dad was to arrive I a phone alarm began singing somewhere.  It wasn’t either of my phones.  And I found my friend’s phone buried under the cushions of the chair. 

He woke with a start when I asked if he’d still like to join us.  “Yes!”  And he set off to get himself ready.  And I was surprised to see my younger daughter a little while later  standing there looking at me with a dissatisfied look on her face.  “Camp?  Who’s taking me?”  My father pulled in the driveway and I went to see if my wife would take her over, as we’d this hike planned.  That did not seem likely.  I offered to take my daughter over and allow them a chance to walk without me but my dad made the far wiser suggestion of just coming with us. 

 

Soon we were soaring over the mighty Hudson River.   My father testified to his love for the river and I tried to out do this.  And after we dropped my little one off there in front of the main building I watched with amusement as these two different types of conversation in my mind, the one I know with my father, and the one engage with passionately with this friend.  He’s strong likes and dislikes.  Many don’t match my own but we respect one another.  My father asks if this friend was Jesuit educated and he confirms that he was. 

For the second time in two weeks I’m leading an old friend off down the trail behind our house.  I wonder what I sound like introducing, with such obvious enthusiasm, five different types of oak trees and sassafras and aspen trees.  I suspect it’s probably tiresome, but I can’t help it.  Down at the bridge over the river, staring up at the Trapps I stopped to tie my shoes.  My friend came up and got me good.  He looked down river and said aren’t those sycamore trees remarkable.  I jumped right up and said: “well spotted!  They are.  You see there are two more right down there and . . . “  He began laughing saying he didn’t know what a sycamore was but my dad had told him to tell me as I’d likely jump up and down. 

Friday, 08/13/21