Last year Mr. Kaos had to go away on business for father’s day. He thought it really sucked, so rather than have K and I pout that we were spending Father’s day alone he bought two plane tickets for K and I to go visit my father. My daddy.
I know, I’m 30. I know it isn’t “cool” or “hip” but my dad is my daddy. I call him daddy. Deal with it.
While we were there I saw something special, something amazing, something that if I had ever seen before it had been in my early childhood and I had no recollection of it.
I saw fireflies. Hundreds of them dancing in the air like little points of light playing a beautiful song on the night air.
I have no snark to interject into that statement. It’s true, I stood with my dad and one of his oldest friends on his back porch half sauced and as I used to porch rail to hold myself up I looked out over the rolling green unfenced yards (remind me to come back to the no fence thing) watching all those nasty little bugs with their asses lighting up and man, oh man, it was beautiful.
What brings this memory to the forefront? What makes me mention it now? Last night as we said bon voyage to a good friend, in the midst of our big meal and margarita intake my phone rang and who was on the other end?
He called to tell me that for the first time in years the fireflies were in his backyard… and they were beautiful…