Nostalgia

I've been spending a lot of time thinking lately. Not about anything in particular, really, just thinking. But, more than thinking, I've been reminiscing. Thinking about all the good times and the bad times in my life. I feel like such an old man when I'm 'remembering the good old days'. I ramble on and on for hours to anyone who will listen. But, most people these days don't care enough. 15 minutes, then their minds are off to some place in the bowels of their imagination. So, I came here, to the one place I knew I could type and type and type without anyone saying "Stop". Anyway, on to the remembering. I've really been thinking about the third grade, which is rather odd, because I actually don't remember much from it. The only real thing I remember was this:

There was this one teacher, Mr. Stamp. He was one of the coolest teachers ever. Every day, he'd wear a plaid, flannel shirt and jeans. Every other friday, he's whip out his guitar and have a sing-a-long. It was the best. He'd always sing, at least once per sing-a-long, Puff the Magic Dragon. (Which isn't about drugs, don't try to convince me otherwise). It was the best. Then, it got to a point where it was the entire third grade at his little sing-a-long and the experience became ever better. Despite whatever differences we had among ourselves, we could always get together and sing and all of it would melt away. At least for a little while. He really reminded me of my dad.

My dad was one of the coolest dads ever. He always seemed like he knew everything. He could fix anything that was broken and could tell me exactly how it broke and how he fixed it. He was a miracle worker, he was. When he was there for me, at least. He spent most of his time in the basement, smoking.