Daddy

Seeing The Phantom of the Opera the other night brought up something I wasn’t really expecting. It made me think about my dad. He took me to see Phantom three or four times when I was younger, and he always thought it was the greatest musical ever written. Sitting there last night, hearing that music again and watching the chandelier rise, I couldn’t help but think about all those times sitting in a theater with him. It’s strange how someone can live only a mile away and somehow feel a thousand miles from your life. I haven’t spoken to my dad in so long that I’ve almost stopped keeping track of how long it’s actually been. Sometimes distance isn’t measured in miles. It’s measured in birthdays missed, conversations never had, memories you unexpectedly stumble into, and all the ordinary days that quietly turn into years. Last night, for a couple of hours, Phantom brought back a time when things were very different between us, and I found myself remembering not where we are now, but who we were then. It’s amazing how music can do that. One overture, one chandelier, one familiar melody, and suddenly years disappear.

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