My Small World

The older I get, the smaller my world becomes.” My father used to say that, and though I thought I understood what he was saying, I was never positive until just recently; my world, too, has become smaller.

- Alan Liere

In his 70s my father was long retired, still had his health and was financially comfortable. His aspirations for adventure had never been as high as my own, but he and Mom had talked often about visiting New York City, perhaps The Grand Ol' Opry in Nashville and maybe taking a cruise to Alaska. Dad didn't hunt at all — a puzzling situation considering the bird hunting nut he fathered — and in my opinion, it minimized his wish list significantly.

When he made the “smaller world” comment a few years past his 75th birthday, Dad’s priorities were not even as ambitious as before. He loved his home and garden and was most happy when planting geraniums in the spring or edging the grass along the sidewalk so nary a blade overhung the concrete. He liked to putter around in the kitchen. He enjoyed short fishing trips with me to local lakes in the summer, but he didn’t care much about catching a big fish as much as just being on the water with me. Family reunions at Mission Park in the summer were what he long anticipated and much enjoyed.

Dad’s world had indeed become smaller ... and that’s the way he wanted it. Once, when I asked him if he wouldn’t like to go to Europe to perhaps visit the town of his ancestors in Germany, Dad said, “I didn’t leave anything in Europe!”