Sox and sobs

Last night the Sox game went 'til about 1:30am. Maybe it was a little shorter than that. At any rate, I watched most of it, then decided I should at least try to disengage and get some rest so I could be bright and bonny for my Lil Pea and choir rehearsal today.

But it was such a good game... I brushed my teeth, washed my face, tucked myself into bed and found the AM station on my clock radio.

And then, out of nowhere, tears started rolling down my face. And since I was lying on my back, they rolled into my ears, which tickles. I didn't know where the emotion came from, so I just took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to divine the answer from my surroundings.

Of course. Obvious. The radio. The sound of the announcers' voices, the background noise of the crowd at the park, the slight buzz of the station badly tuned... There were car trips and late nights when my dad would tune in to some game, even try to get me to watch a game on tv some late night, and all the sounds would automatically put me into a kid coma. I would wake up hours later with my mouth hanging open and dried saliva tracks on my chin. And my dad would smiled at me, smooth my hair, tell me to go to bed...

The tears are a symptom of the mourning I've put myself through with all of the trouble I've had with my father. Once in a while something will remind me of him, the Dad I wanted to keep much longer than I had him. It's exactly the same punch of emotion I get when I hear a laugh like Shane's, or someone offers me a pineapple candy like the stale chewy kind my Grandma Fabrizio always had on hand. And then I have to shake myself and say, "JoBiv, your dad is not dead."

Then why am I haunted by his ghost?