Memories with my Dad
I remember when I was young, maybe 7 or 8, my Dad used to come down from Sydney, and we'd go to the harbour for a while. It wasn't always, but we'd always go when he came down to see me. My younger brother and I would climb the trees for hours. I remember the smooth branches, slender and worn from years of use and love. I remember there was a specific branch much like a seat. I remember it was high enough I could swing my legs underneath, and strong enough to gently bounce a small child like me, as I'd look out over the harbour.
As I got older, I'd still look at those trees and remember life as a child.
But now all I have are these memories. There are no photos. Only the ones I picture in my mind. And now, there won't be any more memories made. Those trees gave us shelter, a place to play, a memory. And now they're only memories.
Share Memories with my Dad on Facebook
Share Memories with my Dad on Twitter
Share Memories with my Dad on Linkedin
Email Memories with my Dad link
Consultation has concluded