No one taught my father to swim. He jumped into the ditch and started paddling. A depression, a lifetime, a war, a family later, he climbed out of the water and waved from the bank on the other side. He waved and he waved, and faded to shade, in the flesh with the fish, a splash and a wish, a breeze, the sky, a door. And then we couldn’t see him anymore.
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Categories: Daybook
Tags: Aging, Death, Doors, Family History, Flesh, Life, Memory, My Father, Sky, Suicide, Summer, Swimming in the Ditch, The Great Depression, The San Joaquin Valley, War, Water
William Michaelian 