Quick! Make a Wish!

On rare occasions, my daddy - a lifelong Luckies smoker - traded in his cigarettes for a pipe.  He packed it from a pouch he carried in his back pocket and lit it with a wooden match - drawing and exhaling the sweet smoke until it caught.  He became philosophical at such times, often telling me it made him feel wise, able to think deep thoughts and appreciate the stars.


Not every man can carry off a pipe, you know, he remarked one evening as we sat on the side porch, You were very discerning to know that I was one of them.


Indeed, I said and laughed.  I had to admit a pipe smoker always made me think of words like distinguished and professorial and even discerning but I also knew that since it had been a gift from me, he was likely to smoke it just to please me.


On this night, he leaned back on his elbows with the pipe between his teeth, making a handsome silhouette if you overlooked the paint stained khaki pants ( he'd spent the day whitewashing the flagpole ) and the shabby, sleeveless t shirt.  He studied the stars as if expecting them to speak - a quiet, soft spoken man still searching for peace in a very loud and unruly world - and pointed out the constellations to me, tracing their outlines for me and sighing at the cosmic wisdom of it all.


God did good, don't you think, he asked softly.


He did, I agreed.


Just over the lighthouse, a shooting star blazed by and he sat up in a rush, losing his grip on the pipe and sending a small shower of sparks into the night air.  Quick! he said urgently, Make a wish!


Startled, I looked up to see the tail end of the star melting away.  I made my wish - for more nights just like this one - and then it was gone.


My daddy pulled out his tobacco pouch and re-packed his pipe, went through the whole process of re-lighting it and settled back on his elbows again, long legs crossed at the ankles and face turned upward.


They're not really stars at all, you know, he said eventually, just chunks of rock and space dust burning up in the atmosphere.  I don't guess that've made much of song though.


Guess not, I agreed companionably.


When you wish upon a rock....he sang then shook his head and laughed dryly, Nope, just isn't the same.  


Tendrils of smoke swirled and drifted through the warm night air and we stayed and watched the stars until my mother called for me to go to bed.  I went reluctantly, not wanting to let go of the perfect night, the pipe smoke, or the handsome silhouette of my daddy against the star filled sky.


Funny how often we don't recognize a memory in the making.