Saturday, March 20, 2010


The Saturday mornings of my youth...
I can remember passing by suburban sprawl lit by an overcast sky. It would usually be mid-morning. I always looked out the window, my forehead pressed against the glass, autumn chill cool to my skin. My father would always play the songs of his youth. He had this old envelope box full of cds that sat in the front near his feet. The one that always seemed to be the theme to these drives was "Amie" by Pure Prairie League.

We would end up at his weekend AA meeting. Cigarette smoke heavy in the air. Donuts at the end of each table. He's a lifelong member, 30-something years sober. I'd wait for him in the lobby of the meeting room, usually reading and eating. I felt like I was wise beyond my years. I knew this key to success in life. I was so proud to be there with Dad.

From there we would make a stop at his empty office. In between trips a new CD would be played; something like "Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot or even a few old Beatles tracks. Once at his office, I would scramble in ahead of him to secure my spot at the empty computer I played games on. He would get some work done in his office across the hall and I would run to the kitchen to get hot chocolate out of the coffee vending machine. We would go home at around noon, talking about music and what was going on at school. I always secretly wished that we'd go out to lunch beforehand, it being noon. But we rarely did. "Amie" played on the ride home, Dad replacing Amie's name with "Austin" while singing. I smiled to myself, acting like it was stupid. I always loved it though.

And here I am, 9-10 years later sitting next to my father at a Pure Prairie League show. Memories flood my mind and I see the same man who used to replace "Amie" with my name voicing the lyrics at me. The music plays and everyone is singing "Amieeeeeee whatchu wanna do, I think I could stay with you for a while maybe longer if I do".

But I am within myself, thankful for this love that sits beside me.
Thankful for weekends with my Dad.