So I had my first Dad dream earlier this week. Strangely I wasn’t the Dad, my father was.
I don’t recall the entire plot any longer, but that does not matter too much. My brother, sister and I were in a house loosely laid out like that of a old family friends. Inside there were more knick knacks than I recall them having. Outside there was an approaching forest fire.
I was in charge since I am the oldest, but none of us knew quite what to do. Should we get out of the house or should we stay put? As things typically occur in dreams, I found myself, without preamble, on the phone with my father. Now the fire was in the house. Licking up the walls devouring pictures, candle sconces, fake flowers, and post-its.
My father tells me, “Get out of the house. It’s on fire.”
__________
It is good to know that even in my subconscious I can count on my father to solve dangerous emergent problems quickly and effectively. I am encouraged to know that I have such a great example of fatherhood to emulate.
I hope that when Tessavale calls on me with a difficult life problem: she’s pulled her oxygen tube out again and her diaper is wet. She’s fallen off her bike and scraped her knee. She’s having trouble with long division in math. She’s just missed making first chair for violin. She’s hurt her ankle at a track meet and can’t qualify for state. She’s gotten too drunk to drive home from a party. She’s flunked her chemistry final and will maybe lose her scholarship because of the lower GPA. She’s been dumped by the guy she thought was going to propose at graduation. Or she’s wrecked her car on the way back from work and its raining.
I hope I will be able to tell her, “Get out of the house. It’s on fire.”
Dad