Sunday's Child

Sweet Dreams

This morning I woke up a few minutes ahead of my radio alarm. I had just wrapped up a very nice dream; the kind you wish would last just a little longer. Today's dream was of the variety I now refer to as dad-dreams. This one had an Italian twist. Here's what happened:

For reasons unknown, I was walking along a sidewalk at a shopping plaza, not unlike the Haney Plaza where the dreaded Dr. Bremner* had his dental practice (*most-feared dentist of any kid growing up in the 1960's in the Fraser Valley). As I walked along, I slowly became aware of my dad's melodic voice, somewhere up ahead.

I followed my ears, and as I grew closer to the voice, I saw him standing next to a wooden pillar, in living colour. He had a full head of hair and a nicely trimmed mustache. Those of you who knew my dad, also knew he was follicly challenged, in other words, he was bald. But there was no doubt about it -- the man standing before me was Dad. He was in the midst of telling an animated story to another fellow, and he was telling it in fluent, uninterrupted Italian. His words were accompanied by his flailing arms. He looked my way and smiled. I stood by him, basking in the familiar sound of his booming voice.

Dreams are such magical occurrences. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the "man of my dreams" was Dad. He was just as happy to see me as I was to see him. We both understood that he had a story to finish and that our time to visit could wait. I woke shortly after telling him it was okay for him to continue his story.

Too bad I don't understand Italian -- it looked to be a fun story he was telling -- the fellow he was talking to appeared to be an appreciative listener. But then, given Dad's knack for storytelling, who wouldn't be?