Wrote this the summer following my fathers death, thought it likely some of you have plowed the same ground
I have been helping Will put up some new fencing in a dry lot, lots of big pieces of steel so the cutting torch has been the weapon of choice.
Saturday morning I am working by myself when the
torch popped and went out, without thinking I twisted the
oxygen valve shut while quickly pushing the tip towards a
hot piece of slag to relight it.
I felt a lump in my throat as I realized this was my fathers way, how often as a young boy I had watched him quickly relight his torch in this same
manner, his sure hands reacting instinctively just as mine
had.
Now he is gone,still, somehow in me a part of him lives
on. I stood for a moment, reflecting and feeling, then
went ahead cutting my holes.
When do you feel it?
I have been helping Will put up some new fencing in a dry lot, lots of big pieces of steel so the cutting torch has been the weapon of choice.
Saturday morning I am working by myself when the
torch popped and went out, without thinking I twisted the
oxygen valve shut while quickly pushing the tip towards a
hot piece of slag to relight it.
I felt a lump in my throat as I realized this was my fathers way, how often as a young boy I had watched him quickly relight his torch in this same
manner, his sure hands reacting instinctively just as mine
had.
Now he is gone,still, somehow in me a part of him lives
on. I stood for a moment, reflecting and feeling, then
went ahead cutting my holes.
When do you feel it?