When JT was a little boy, he called his baseball cap his “ball cap hat.” The phrase stuck with me and though I rarely say it out loud, when I see him in a baseball cap, I think of it. He remains a fan of hats and wears any number of them throughout the year. For me, baseball caps spell fun and I’ve a new ball cap hat myself, one I acquired with Summer adventures in mind.
Years ago, my taught me that the sight of a cardinal was a visit from a loved one who had passed; a sign that all was well in the great beyond. When I saw this cardinal on the fencepost in my yard a few weeks ago, I was glad.
Tomorrow will be a year since my Dad’s passing. I miss him. I miss his voice on the phone; I miss his to-the-point e-mails; I miss his jokes and his laugh. It’s hard to believe that we’ve been a full season of life without him in this world. I can hear his political commentary in my mind, see him in my growing plants and garden plans, think of his outsized joy in his grandsons. I remember him by telling stories about him or using a patented dad-phrase. It’s not enough - it never will be - but the memories are of a man who loved and was loved; who had a good life. That’s happy.
It’s no secret that my Dad was a huge fan of the St. Louis Cardinals and his love of a team with a scrappy, mean bird as a mascot is rather a funny thing. My Dad could be scrappy but he was never mean. His affection for the team dated back to his childhood and it never wavered. Even when his team was struggling, Dad maintained hope that the game - and the season - could be turned around. Some of my greatest joy in life is found in memories of the conversations he and JT had as the Cardinals - by then JT’s team - won an improbable pennant and then World Series in 2011. The sight of a cardinal has always reminded me of my dad and all his best qualities: his liberal politics, his sense of humor (and exquisite timing), his skill with profanity, his joy in his grandsons. With his passing in 2023, the sight of a cardinal feels like my Dad is at hand, counseling patience as I wait for my new hip, condemning ignorance and stupidity, or shouting “Jocko” when there is flubbed play at sport. In 2024, the first of each month will be devoted to cardinals in all their forms in my world. First up is this Christmas gift from my sister.
It will be hung over the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, keeping watch over my home and reminding me of my dad.
