So last week I was all miffed that Ike Turner had lived to be 76, and my dad had only gotten to 65. Why did THAT bastard get 11 more years? But then I read Ike’s obit, and he was a dad, too, and I realized I couldn’t be that much of a solipsistic bitch. Not THAT much.
So I know Ike’s kids are wishing they had 20 more years like I am, and I am glad Ike stopped his self-destructive ways back in ’93 (my dad stopped in 1988, I think, 19 years ago), and I still have this big ache in my chest, but tonight I am opening Road To Passion and am going to try to finish it, only a few weeks later than originally planned. ‘Cause Dad would be really pissed if I allowed something to come between me and my goals.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
No way Ike was as good a dad as yours. No WAY. My loyalty allows no leeway on this matter.
Finish it. You’re right – your dad would have been pissed. And for that matter, so would all your friends. Life’s short, and it’s also hard. Stories make it better. No one knew that better than your dad.
You’d better finish your book, Megan. Your dad will still be with you, so he’ll know if you slack off.
Hugs,
Diane