Ghosts from the Past

  Memories are fresh on the mind of this Blogger. I want to share them with my son, my family and my friends just as my father did in the past. The oral tradition is strong in my family. (Jedi, maybe, but more on that later.) My dad would start telling a story and you would want to run for the door, just to stop so you could hear one more. He liked his stories about his past growing up in Idaho. We would sit around the campfire or just around his kitchen counter for hours to hear them.
  I feel sometimes like my life is fading, I have diabetes, I am over weight, my heart acts up (beat fast for no reason), and I just turned 41. I am feeling old and like I am having a mid-life crisis. I have no desire to buy an Italian sports car or find a younger mate; I cannot manage to keep up with the one that I have, she is a third my weight, two-thirds my age and full in love.
  My son is almost seven and will not graduate school for another 12 years. I want to see him go to college, have a family, and have a child of his own.
  This blog is my time capsule, it is my parachute, it is my confession, it is a love letter, and it is my connection to my father and to my son. I hope one day he will read this and understand that his father and grandfather and all the people that I talked about loved him. I want the world to know my family, they weren’t famous or rich; they were for the most part poor and unassuming. Their riches came from their grasp of the oral tradition. They had honor and respect for one another.
  Once when I lived in Vancouver, Washington, just after my son was born (2005). The phone rang and my father and mother were on a three-way call with me.
  “James, this is mom and dad.”
  “Who died,” I asked.
  “Everyone is okay, we just wanted to tell you we love you and wanted to make sure you understood that we are very proud of the way you take care of your family,” announced my dad.
“I love you, James,” said my mom.
  “Thanks,” I answered, probably sounding confused.
  They hung up after that. They just wanted me to know how they felt. I remember standing at my dad’s   funeral and remember that phone call. It made me cry to be honest. It is a connection that I needed and still need today. My parents like all good parents centered me.
  Therefore, if you find that your memories are painful and sad, try to think of them as connections to your past.