One of my favourite memories I have was being a a little kid waiting for my dad to come home from work. I remember asking mom constantly "What time is daddy coming home?". Vividly I recall that it was about 6:15pm or so every day, he had a little over an hour commute back home from Dallas. I would play with my toys at the window sill that faced the driveway, so I could see when his little tan truck would pull up. As soon as he'd open his door I would shout through the window screen: "Daddy's home!" I think I did that so that he would know I saw him, and so that my mom would know I noticed him first.
I remember he would put his key chain between his teeth and shake his head, making a goofy face and rattling the keys at me in the window. I'd run to the front door and wait for him to come in, soon jumping on his foot and wrapping my arms and legs around one of his legs. He seemed like such a giant back then. He'd take a step or two with me clinging tightly on, to then greet my mother, where they would say to each other "Hi honey" and exchange their usual three quick kisses. Dinner was normally about ready, and my dad might pick me up and pretend that he was going to eat me because he was hungry.
This routine lasted a few years, until I got older. My mom and dad to this day still do the exact same exchange. It's funny how no matter how much some things change, there are these comforting constants that always seem remain the same. I hope one day to relive memories like this, maybe as a father myself?
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