Forty Days of Lent: Day Thirty-Eight

April 11th is one of those dates that sticks in my memory, as it is the anniversary of my father's death.  He usually shows up in my dreams a couple of nights before, and my realization of the approaching anniversary elicits an "Oh yeah.  Of course."  Today was the day.  Hang my memories around this date, the events themselves seem so long ago.  Fill the day with little reminders.

Today I met friends of mine who are looking to increase their available pool of babysitters.  When I saw them shortly after being laid off, they asked "Do you wanna babysit?" right after offering their sympathies.  I've met their two year old son before but they wanted to re-introduce us to make sure the kid took to me.  The four of us hung out at Brooklyn Bazaar: inside a large industrial space sits a collection of arcade games, tables with crafts by local artists, and tonight, punk bands playing from a small stage.

Their son was the little reminder.  Looking at him, I realized he looked like my father, or rather, my favorite photo of my father.  He is about three years old and is wearing a cap and a wool coat and is sitting on the back of a pony.  Despite being taken in the 1930s, the scene looks like it could have been  an Irish farm in the 1830s.  With his brown hair and round checks, if you had dressed my friend's son the same way and plopped him on a horse, he would have looked just like my dad.