My Dad

I flew on a magic carpet on Saturday mornings, sitting in front of the radio. "Let's Pretend" was the most popular children's show and I knew all the words to the commercial. "Cream of Wheat is so good to eat and we have it every day. It's good for you and it's...." (well, you get the idea.) A narrator took us (all the children of the world) to pretend places with pretend people and everything was good in that world.

On Saturday nights, I listened to "Gangbusters" and "The Shadow Knows". I scared myself before going to bed. I still remember the squeeeeeking door.

Sunday mornings, Dad would tell me about the parade. John Phillip Sousa music would be playing, and he would have the volume turned low.

"Listen", he'd say, "can you hear the parade coming?"

I put my little ear close to the radio console that stood in our living room. He was secretly controling the volume. Sure enough, the sound was faint, and I could hear the band coming from far away. He'd talk about it getting closer and increase the volume. I could almost see the red and white uniforms - the horns, the tubas, the drums. At full blast, we'd know the parade was directly in front of us. And then, decreasing the volume, he'd describe it marching away.

I loved my Dad.

He died in a car accident when he was forty-nine years old. He was killed by a drunk driver.