And a Smile

The can said “Share a Coke with your Dad.”
 
My Dad died in 1998.
 
At first, I was offended by the can. The ill-conceived idea everyone had a father they could share things with.
 
But then, a revelation struck me.
 
I drove to the cemetery. I strolled in the soft, warm, sunlight to his grave.
 
I opened the can and took a sip. Then I poured half of it on the well-manicured lawn.
 
Dad had liked Coke. Dad had also been willing to share things with me. Things that mattered.
 
I sat there for an hour, talking about my life. My hopes, my dreams, even my fears.
 
It had been too long since I’d been here. It had been too long since I really thought about my Dad.
 
I guess I could still share things with him…