My Dad Smells Like. . .

Tonight, I got off on the wrong subway stop. I jumped the gun - one stop too early. It was 12:35 am... not a good time to be walking alone down a street in Queens, New York that I did not recognize. (At this point, I'd say my mom and dad are sufficiently freaking out.)

I was a little worried at first: stepping off of the last step into a quieter intersection than I am used to and knowing full well that the next train doesn't come til 1:10 am. It was a gorgeous day and subsequently a beautiful evening, so I started to hoof it. I decided that the most logical move would be to head north, following the subway line.

As I walked, I passed the cutest little houses/apartments. This area, only a few blocks down from my stop, is much nicer residentially speaking. I also passed a couple of huge churches and some commercial buildings. But the thing that made me stop in my tracks was my dad.

I guess there is some developing going on in one of the lots. I had my chin tucked a little and was walking at a pretty brisk pace, but the smell of freshly cut two-by-fours hit my nostrils and filled me with Home. I stopped, just a second, to take a deeper breath.

"Yep, that's Glen Whitaker all right."

I thought about home the rest of the way, how Dad and Matt just built a new dog house for Dingo. How I made my dad a red toolbox one year for Father's Day and it won a ribbon at the 4-H County Fair; how he still uses it today. Thought about the shelves in my closet at home and the many times he lugged his drill up to college to put up homemade bookshelves for me. Can still remember the smell of tar black paint mixed with the fresh lumber the first year Dad had us paint the plank fence around our property.

My dad also smells of some sort of cologne. Things like that always have weird names like Musty Rose or Expression or Brute Strength. Well, I don't know what brand he wears, but my dad smells like Freshly Cut Two-by-Fours. . .

and I've just always loved that smell.