I just talked to my dad on the phone
for an hour and a half.
He stayed up until 11:30 his time
(and this man goes to bed early)
to tell me about
my great-great-great grandfather,
I asked him about when he proposed to my mom,
because I never get tired of hearing
that he was so in love with her
he just had to call her on the phone
on a Monday morning,
and ask her to marry him.
He told me about military police
patrolling the streets in Uruguay
when he was a missionary there in the 1970s.
He told me about how he missed America's bicentennial
because he was in South America.
I wanted to cry.
His dad died when he was 29
and his dad was 66.
In seven years,
I'll be 29,
and my dad will be 65.
I told him not to die,
and he said okay.