|Me and my Dad|
There is a time each spring when I think of my first hero: my Dad. He was my only hero until I was about 10 and he was replaced by Elvis Presley. Somehow, even though my musical heroes changed over the years, Dad never regained his original status. Maybe I stopped needing a hero. Or maybe we were too much alike in our independence and pushed each other away. I don't know the exact reasons but I do know it happened.
He's been gone for almost eight years but I have him very close by in the garden when the primroses from his garden bloom in ours. They have multiplied well from the few original plants that I brought when he moved from Victoria to be closer to us. What I think is so wonderful is the chain of history for my generation of primroses.
They came from a former neighbor's garden - Dad liked them and planted them in his. When he moved house a few plants came with him to a new garden where they again grew and prospered. Then, because I loved them, a few of them came to live with us while the rest remained behind and got on with their business. And just like families, there is a whole wealth of stories of the plants before our generation knew them. My hero had stories, too. I never heard them all.