The voice of my father...

Yesterday I did something I don't think I've ever done.

I called my dad just to hear his voice.  I didn't have anything to talk about, I just wanted to hear the sound of his voice.

It was one of those days where I felt surrounded and hounded by the pressures of the present.  It was like I couldn't see anything beyond what was right in front of my face...I couldn't hear anything but noise in my head picking up reverb with every minute that passed.  I just felt a need to connect with my father.  His voice instead of my noise.  His familiar and familial sound instead of the ground and pound in the octagon of my office.  So I called.

The minute I heard him answer the phone, I knew why my heart needed to hear him speak.  I didn't need to hear him saying anything in particular, I just needed to listen to him talk.  I needed to be reminded of my beginnings.  I needed to connect with the place and person I came from, the foundations of my identity, the DNA I often forget that flows in my veins and in my brain.  I talked a bit, but mostly I listened.  I let him talk about anything he wanted to share.  I didn't care what it was, it didn't matter--all I needed was his voice.

I got up the nerve to tell him, too.  As we finished our conversation I said: "Dad, I called today just to hear your voice.  I felt like I needed to hear it for some reason."  I could tell he was taken aback a little, but he responded with affirmation and how good it is for him to hear my voice as well.  I wish I could have seen his face, but he lives 9 hours away, so his voice is all I can access.  But it's enough.

As we said our goodbyes he said, "I love you very much, Jay."

I think that's what I need to hear...someone that knows to call me "Jay".  The boy connected with the dad.  The son connected to the father.  This voice that echoes through my life today.


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