Monday
Many a hot summer night will find me on the back deck with my laptop,
a cold Guinness and a nice warm cigar.
It’s what I choose to do during this season.
I dream about it at work, on the train back home and make the dream come true when I get there.
I’ve been known to choose the back deck and a cigar over a Red Sox game. (oh, the horrors!)
My daughters will come and go during the night passing me on their way in and out of the house.
They usually wave their hands in a back and forth fashion in front of their face to let me know
that my cigar stinks like poop.
I usually turn and say, “Someday, when I’m gone-” (and I get cut off)
“We know Dad, when you’re dead and buried we’ll be walking down a street and smell a cigar and think of you.
How nice. That thing stinks.”
“Gee, thanks, hon. Love you, too.”
I usually utter that to an empty backyard because they’ve already gone back into the house.
I smoke some very nice cigars, folks.
I have 12 year old Cubans in my humidor, for God’s sake.
These ain’t your Daddy’s Phillie Grape-flavored Blunts.
I’m thinking Pamela actually likes the aroma of at least a few of them.
Last Sunday, a woman came into the store,
stopped in the middle of the floor and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.
She opened her eyes, smiled and looked at me.
She was crying.
She said,
“I hope you don’t mind but I’m taking a walk down Memory Lane here.
Places like this just remind me of my Dad. It’s almost like he’s here.”
“He is,” said I.
She looked around as she was leaving and almost lovingly said,
“Thank you so much.”
If I had a dime for every time someone said, “this place reminds me of my grandfather,”
I would be a very rich man.
I usually smile, nod my head and think, same old, same old.
Been there, cut the cigar, smoked the cigar and bought the T-shirt.
For some reason, this woman seemed different to me.
Maybe it was the fragments of truth that seemed to hang on her every word.
She was moved to tears by the aroma of a century old cigar shop.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised.
I can only hope that years after I’m gone, my daughters can still find a special shop that offers up the unique and precious memories that mine currently does.
They may just have to settle for the aroma of some fine Cuban cigar wafting through the air
of some distant and special summer night in the distant future.
That will be Dad, girls . . . that special kiss on your cheek.
It’s me.
Can’t tell you how broadly this made me smile.
Maybe because I can smell, hear and see all you speak of, including the looks on their faces as they do the wave??
I have no doubt in my mind, that in years to come, it’s more than possible they too will cry for the same reasons the woman you speak of, did.
I know you detest this time of the year, and what we’re leading into rapidly, but I have to say there are some benefits for people who read here.
You become introspective and we see posts such as these.
What your bride would call “real” posts…
The seasons are changing once again as they always do.
We make new memories all the time .Lord knows the backyard holds several for us from swing sets to didj playing.
But there are two that are always present That would be you and your cigars.
Finally,a post from the heart.
Yes, some day the girls will remember with great fondness their dad and the wonderful(or not) smell of his cigar.
How sweet! Your girls don’t know how blessed they are. And that’s wonderful.
Love the Las Gentes label. How much for a box?
.-= Lolly´s last blog ..Christmas knitting underway =-.
Ever told you that I simply adore how you with creations like this, sprinkle your Being into our lives, my life, enabling me to feel that comforting sensation of how somehow we are all connected and that moments of feeling lonely really are just illusions.
Thank you.
Wow!!! I just got transported to that little cigar shop in Boston………tons of memories there…..laughs…prayers…..hugs…..
Thank you for sharing your incredible gift with us……..Love you man!
Tu hermano
Ps…….
“Las Gentes”= “The People”
You couldn’t have picked a better heading for this story! Awesome!
I do miss the smell of my G’pa’s cigars (even his old spice cologne) and my Grandpa’s pipe. I always knew where they were when I was younger. It’s hard sometimes to go to family functions and having that little part of you wish you could smell that smoke just one more time just to know they were there. **sigh**
.-= Mrs. V´s last blog ..Do People Realize… =-.
I know I will tell you that this isn’t true and that this will never happen, but this post brought me to tears, Dad, and I never cry about anything. I know it will happen someday, but no day soon. Keep smoking those cigars and I will keep telling you that they smell like SHIT. But one day, I will enjoy the smell, and I will miss you, but that day isn’t any day soon.