It was on the windblown bluffs of Brockway Mountain Drive in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula that this eight year old boy heard his father say, “Yup, this is where I want my ashes scattered.”
“Right here?” I inquired, gazing out across what I had heard my father refer to several times as “God’s country.”
“Right here,” Dad said, pulling over to the side and stopping the car. My father got out and strolled near the edge of one of the rocky bluffs, staring lovingly over the verdant land below. I took this as my cue and pulled the ashtray from the car and proceeded to empty the contents just beside my cigarette-sucking father. Just then, an unruly gust of wind blew the bulk of the ashes directly into Dad’s face.
Man, was he pissed.
BILL
Twitter: @BillBekkala
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