The Masters And My Dad Poem by Jim Yerman

When we add a memory to our life…of a special moment…a special day…how can we ensure that memory will live on…that it will not fade away?

I imagine it's the nature of memories that some will bubble to the surface…never to dim or fade…triggered by a photo…an aroma……a word…that awakens the moment that memory was made.

While other memories we nurture every chance we get…of a moment…a day…a time…we never want to forget.

My dad and I were never close…although the bonds between us were never broken…it's just any love we ever shared was usually unspoken.

My dad loved to watch sports, however, and one day on a whim…I sat down to watch the final round of the Masters tournament with him.

As was customary we watched in silence…golf balls flying through the air…but I was filled with this feeling of comfort knowing he was sitting over there.

As I said it was something we didn't talk about…something we'd never ever exclaim…but I like to think when Dad looked over at me…he was feeling just the same.

That became our yearly ritual…no matter what plans I had…one Sunday in early April every year I'd watch the final round of the Masters with my dad.

It is a memory I cherish…to this very day…and one I am determined to nurture so it doesn't fade away.

My dad's been gone for many years…but that hasn't stopped me yet…every year on a Sunday in early April from turning on the TV set.

And watching, in silence, the final round of the Masters…golf balls flying through the air…remembering those precious moment as a child with my dad sitting over there.

If anyone were to ask me what I'm doing…perhaps they might think me mad…
when I smile and tell them…not much…just watching the Masters with my dad.