Dad's Birthday

During my sick time the past few days, my dad's birthday happened. He passed away 12 years ago, so it's not a celebration and is only recognized with a quick text back-and-forth between my sister and me.

He was a beekeeper, and his birthday would happen during honey season. He'd be out with a crew in the bee yards, pulling honey supers off of hives, and the rest of his workers would be in the honey house running frames through the extractor. It was often long days and stressful.

On top of all this, his birthdays were always eventful. Machines would break in unusual ways, honey would go unchecked and overflow the storage tanks, or trucks would start on fire—not just once, but happened a few times over the years. You couldn't help but feel it was cursed.

I also remember, though, that at the end of the day, he'd be at his party, and usually, the day's events had become another story to tell, and he'd be back to his old wiseass self.

So, belated happy birthday, Dad. I'm sure you wouldn't have been impressed that I'd had Covid during honey season.