Dear Father,
Have you ever played “Where’s Waldo”? You look and look and look, through what seems to be thousands of thousands of people, all for this guy wearing a stupid looking striped hat. I used to play that game a lot. Only, my Waldo was a graying middle-aged man with a cell-phone attached to his ear.
I’d look in the bedrooms, basement, attic, yard; I’d catch a glimpse of him in a car, or walking out the door.
My Waldo never held still for me to catch and hold; always running around, going to work. I’d try to catch him in the dark, or in the early morning light; caught the moon and sunrise plenty of time, but never my Waldo.
When I got older I grew out of the game. I stopped looking for Waldo every five minutes. I stopped scanning the hallways and busses and wherever crowds would be. Oddly enough, it was then that my Waldo could’ve been found. He finally lounged in the T.V. room, worked in the yard and cooked in the kitchen. There was finally time for me to catch him and hold him tight.
Only…He didn’t do these things at my home. He played husband and grandpa to a new family.
So, Dad, I hope you now understand why, when gave me that Waldo book, I laughed and laughed until I nearly cried.

Darcy Russel