You know when you are around someone who enjoys something or is so passionate about something that it becomes infectious? And you know how when you see them do this over and over you start to think it's your thing, that you enjoy it just as much? But when they are gone you realize it was never your thing to begin with?
Today was the 133 running of the Kentucky Derby. This was my Dad's thing. He loved nothing more than to watch the horses run. Didn't even have to be the Derby. The local racetrack was good enough for him. But the Derby was a special day for the family. First off, Dad made mint juleps by the gallon. It was imperative that everyone had one in their hand at all times. Second, Mom made fried chicken. For those of you who don't know me, Mom and Dad were born and raised in Virginia in good
ol' Southern families. You don't know heaven until you have Mom's fried chicken in one hand and Dad's mint juleps in the other.
Usually on this day, the family and some friends would gather from wherever and converge at the local racetrack with small bottles of mint julep hid in various places on our person to sneak in and Mom's fried chicken blatantly displayed. We'd spend the day drinking and eating and laughing and betting. I rarely remembered how the day ended. It was always one of my favorite days of the year.
So this year when the race approached, the first after Dad's death, I realized I couldn't let it go by without something. I called up the family to arrange for a racetrack pilgrimage. Unfortunately, my sister-in-law's grandfather had died (another lost to cancer) and so my brother and one of my sisters were off to the funeral that day. My other sister just couldn't do it. It was too soon. But Mom was up for it so she cooked up some fried chicken and I made mint juleps and Boyfriend consumed both happily. Then off to the racetrack with us.
It was beyond crowded. I had to drop Boyfriend and Mom off at the gate before I drove to a
Walmart parking lot to find a space. We wandered around, placed some bets, fought through crowds, got a couple of beers. Barely raised an eyebrow at the Derby itself. No one was having any fun. Then we ran into a couple of friends of Dad's. His friend Vic was mentioning how he rarely played golf anymore. Said "It just doesn't feel right anymore."
That's when it hit me. This wasn't our thing. This was Dad's and he loved it and we loved watching him love it. I don't love it. I mean, sure, I still love the Derby and the excitement and the
pageantry and the tradition but the racetrack and the crowd and the lines, no way. Maybe it would have been different with the siblings there but I doubt it. Dad was the glue. Dad made it the best day.
So, Dad, I raise a mint julep glass to you but next year, I believe I will come to Mom's house, sit in your recliner with a piece of Mom's chicken in my hand, watch the race on the tube and remember fondly those days on the racetrack lawn. Oh, who am I kidding? I only remember through the first two mint juleps.
