I WISH

Not so very long ago, I wrote a story about myself for my children and my grandchildren. I told of my birth date and where I was born. I told about my mother and father. I related stories about my sister and our life as siblings. I told of my childhood, my best friends, and what I did for a living. I told them that I love each of them.

Last week was my 66th birthday. Or, as I like to say, it was the 45th anniversary of my 21st birthday. I tell many people that I now realize and accept that I have fewer sunsets before me than I do sunrises behind me. So, now I reflect.

I wish. . . I had spent more time with my mom when she was alive. My father and I had a better relationship when I was younger. I had, had the good sense to keep my mouth shut when I was angry. I had told my dad I loved him while he was alive. I had gone to visit my friends Joe Hall and “Snap” Currat while they were in the nursing home.

I wish. . . I had not bragged how good of shot I was the night before the pistol qualifications. I had not shot holes in my back door with sub-velocity shells. I could go on one more hunt with my dad. I had not sold all the guns I once owned. I had taught my children how to smell the rain, taste the snow, listen to corn grow.

I wish. . . I had listened when an older adult said, “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.” I had told some young child, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I had listened when Ann said, “Stop and ask for directions.” I took that extra bicycle inner tube when Ann suggested it. I had checked the flashlight’s batteries the day before the power outage. I wish I would have stayed with piano lessons.

I wish. . . I could have known my stillborn brother. I had not told my sister I would never go to Texas to visit her. I had not said hurtful things to my wife when I was angry or hurt. I had a photo of my first dog, Pumps. I had a chance to play one more game Mumblety Peg with Jim Downs. I wish I could ride in Ernie Salto’s old Ford. I wish Ernie Salto would have let me drive his brand new, Chevrolet, convertible, 409. I could take one more ride in my first car, a 1955 Buick, Century.

I wish. . . I could hide one more time in Howard Watson’s Barn. I could eat a hamburger at Ida Mae’s. I could play one more pin ball game and drink a chocolate Pepsi at Ashman’s Drug Store. I could talk to J.D. Slayden as I entered the Sparta Theater. I could thank Mr. Henry Mitze, my Economics teacher and my Uncle Bob Morris for instilling faith in me. I had studied harder in high school. I had completed college.

I wish. . . I could go with my dad one more time and cut down our Christmas tree. I could smell the scent of fir in our front room. I could get as excited over the Holidays as I did when I was a child. I could eat New Years Eve dinner with Jeff and Donna Alms forever. Have the annual Friends Dinner until. . . I had studied the Holy Bible a lot more than I did.

I wish. . . I could talk and understand my most devoted friend, Sasha, a Shih Tzu. She could understand me, especially when I say, Down!” I wish I could hunt one more time with Lady, Judy and Ringo. Thunder could be around to chase one more rabbit, even though he was deaf.

This wish list could go on and on and on. But as we know, wishes never come true. At least not all the time.