What I Miss the Most

One hour. Write about a person, place or thing that I miss.

There are plenty of people I could write about, and I’ve traveled and moved enough that I’m sure I could think of a place that I miss.

Turns out what I miss the most is a thing: yesterday.

I’m 13,250 days old. That’s a lot of yesterdays. Which means a lot of things to miss. I’m a rather nostalgic fellow, so I think of yesterday quite often. I think of things I did, I think of places I’ve gone, I think of people I’ve lost.

None of them are more important than any other. They’ve all brought me to this date. They’ve all made me the guy sitting in front of a screen, moving his fingers and using just twenty-six letters to write some (interesting?) things.

What are these things?

Singing the theme song to The Courtship of Eddie’s Father with my mom.

Listening to the Mike Shannon show on KMOX radio on Saturday mornings with my dad.

The smell of crayons in the hallways of Carl Sandburg elementary school.

Going to the summer movie camp on the other side of town with my sisters.

Spending the night at my grandparents’ house and hearing the newspaper delivery man actually open the front door to the house at six o’clock in the morning to throw the paper in.

My first Cubs game at Wrigley Field, sitting in the upper deck, and going down to box seats after the game so my dad could show us the field.

The sense of wonder upon arriving in New York City after dark to visit my other grandparents.

Taping coins to railroad tracks to see how flat they’d get.

Dirt trails.

A creepy stuffed clown with long arms, a pointy hat and hands with Velcro on them.

Spending entire Saturdays at the Little League baseball field, playing baseball, watching my friends play, and giving myself a stomachache eating Chocolate Colonel Crunch Bars.

Worrying whether Hulk Hogan will retain the WWF Championship.

Eating at a Pizza Hut in Denver, Colorado.

Standing in the back of a silver Nissan pickup, driving down a country road, screaming the lyrics to Tahitian Moon by Porno for Pyros.

Skipping astronomy class to learn the lyrics to It’s the End of the World as We Know It.

Jumping on the beds in a Motel 6 in Burlington, Vermont.

Driving my girlfriend (now wife) home at eleven thirty at night, on snow covered roads, and hitting every red light along the way.

Catching five fish in five minutes with my oldest daughter after not catching any for fifty-five minutes.

Trivial Pursuit outside on the deck on a January night in Tennessee.

The Little Log Chapel.

The NICU nurse telling me my son began breathing on his own.

My son laying on the floor, absorbing sunshine and knowing his liver was just fine.

My daughter chewing on her fist before the cord was even cut.

Pearl Jam. Alpine Valley.

Climbing rocks at Joshua Tree.

Man, going back and reading all of these things makes me ridiculously nostalgic. Maybe even sad.

Luckily, two things are sure to counteract the sadness of missing yesterday.

Today and Tomorrow.

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