Nineteen years ago, you went on the great adventure. That’s a whole adult ago. There is an entire army of great-grandchildren you’ve never seen with your earthly eyes. My grandson, Samuel Ethan Wayne Stone, bears your name into the future. It’s strange to tell stories of you to people who’ve only seen pictures of you. It makes me miss you, all the more.I've learned a lot about being a dad, since you left. Most of it by remembering things you would say, or do. You taught me a lot. Some of it was trial and error. One lesson, I would say, is that we are all just doing our best. We make mistakes along the way. Nobody is perfect. Deal with it. When you do mess up, own up to it. Do your best to fix it, and move on. Don't dwell on it. Live life in the moment. It's little enough time, here on earth, to spend it in regret and remorse. Remembering is fine. Learning from the past is even better.
I miss your laugh. And your smile. I see it sometimes, in myself. It’s said that we all become our parents in some ways. It’s inevitable. I know it’s true. I’ll never be you. You were ten feet tall, with a booming voice that commanded respect. You made people feel safe. You took care of us. Occasionally, though, I’ll hear myself laugh, and hear you. I’ll say something and hear your voice. I hear it mostly when I’m playing with my grandchildren. It’s when I’m happiest, my most honest, self. You can’t fake happiness when you’re playing with toddlers. They’re the most honest creatures on the planet. They will definitely call you out. You’ve got to get down on the floor and “Be” a dinosaur, a race car, or just a pillow. When they dance, it’s from their soul. They expect you to do the same. When I play with them, I feel you there. That’s a good feeling.
I guess that’s the biggest lesson of all. Be there. Only a dad can teach you some things. Moms are the most fantastic creatures on the planets (except for Grandma’s) but they aren’t designed to do it all by themselves. There are plenty of them that have to, and they do great, but having dads around helps them a lot. I specialize in mud holes, currently. Sandboxes, rock throwing, dandelion picking, and Superman flying. I tickle a lot. I shoot imaginary fireworks at bellies and go “boom” when it hits them. Stuff like that. It doesn’t sound like much, when I see it in black and white, but it’s important. I’m here. They know I love them. They can play with me. It’s okay to scrape your knee. It’s okay to keep getting up and trying again. It’s the same with grandads, as with dads.
I’ll keep doing my best, dad. I wish you were here, though. Thanks for being there for me. I’ll see you again someday. Until then, I’ll be at the mud hole. I love you, Dad.
Rolling Stones 