Today�s featured �father and son� photo was taken last summer in an airport drop-off zone, minutes before a flight back to Portland. Sure, we look happy, but under those thick skins sadness lurked. I hate saying goodbye to the parents. Fucking hate it. Always have. Knowing it might be another 6 months before we see each other is a hard one to swallow. I try to be tough and stoic, and short and deliberate in the name of �getting it over with,� but often crumble once I get to the gate.

I can�t really tell what my dad�s hand signal is supposed to mean. Ill-fated �devil horns?� Some sort of �C�mon, take the goddamn picture, already� cue to mom (shooting the pic) who was steadying the camera for the big shot? I like to think it�s his way off adding �extra flair� to the moment. We Draplin�s have a way with our hands, ahem.

And I know what he�s saying, �Say cheese�say cowshit.�

His hair is white. My hair is brown. Someday, someday.

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I just called home. Mom was in her garden, Dad was working on projects. So it goes.

With all this hanky panky involving the house purchase, one thing rises to the surface: A new thing…�Portland Time� with the parents. If I can�t get back due to schedules and time, hell, I�ll fly them out. Sounds like a plan.

As soon as we close, and not a second after, I�m booking a couple tickets for them to come out and spend some time with me.

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Happy Father�s Day, dad�I miss ya.