I’m Joey. I’m 12 years old and I wanted to write something about my Papa. Deep breaths. Exhale loudly. Quiet laughter. In. Out. What do I see when I think about Papa? Him. I picture Papa with his shirt off outside just smiling. He’s teaching me to roller blade.
Just the other day, I had a dream. I had woke up in the morning and was just lying in bed. All of a sudden the dream came to me: Mama and I were driving on an unfamiliar road. It was all foggy and drizzly out. We passed Papa’s truck just parked on the side of the road. It was as though we had sold it and forgot about it, but I didn’t want to forget anything about Papa. I started thinking about all the things I want to write about to keep his memory alive.
I had a dream a few weeks ago that Papa was down by a river in a canoe (but he had a kayak paddle). Mama and I were on the edge of the river. He came to us. I was happy to see him, but I started crying. He was happy to see us, but he went back to the boat in the water. Mama and I walked onto a bridge. I was telling her how I had a dream about that same bridge and river before.
Papa paddled his boat to the bridge, stood up in his boat, and climbed onto the bridge right by me. He said hi to me and then talked to Mama. He was on the bridge with Mama, and we were all going to the other side. I was happy that we were all together, and I went to the other side by myself. Then I woke up. My puppy was licking me, but I wanted to go back to my dream. I couldn’t.