The timing of Father’s Day weekend was good, or bad, depending upon your view. The ending of soccer left a lot of free time for thinking.
I did not want to be thinking.
I found myself in the van moving towards a place where Tom and I spend time during the courting phase of our relationship. YaYa asked where we were going, but I couldn’t tell him exactly. I didn’t feel as if I was really doing the driving; I was being driven.
We walked around the quaint little town, past all of the rich folks, and in and out of stores where I had no intentions of purchasing anything. Finally, we came to Pizza My Heart. YaYa’s face lit up. “This is where we used to eat with Dad,” he announced. Moments later, we were sitting in Dad’s spot and enjoying a slice of life.
Afterwards, we walked around a bit more. When we were near the van again, YaYa realized that we were at the very spot where the bike path ends. Remembering his rides with his Dad, he asked if we could walk a bit more. We continued walking towards the bike path. YaYa called it replacing his past. I think he meant retracing, but perhaps not.
We ended the day at home eating popcorn and watching a movie. For me, Saturday was enough. I left the dishes on the counter and went up to bed, bracing myself for the real Father’s Day.