Dad left us even before his death. I blame it somewhat on football and the injuries he sustained playing with little to no head protection “back in the day.” But while he was here, he was a force to be reckoned with. I have a feeling that as a young man, he stole many women’s hearts. Mother has lived to tell me that he often rode girlfriends through their neighbor on his motorcycle. This was before he started dating my Mom.

I never thought about it until Sunday, but I wondered what it would be like to sit on an Indian—a bike close to what my Dad had. Or better yet, if he had been there to tell me about owning his Indian. I do remember once saying to him, “You owned a Harley, right?” He immediately answered, “No! An Indian!”

I’m still hunting for the only photograph of him sitting on his Indian. There is one last large box of old photos that I need to go through. Maybe, the Indian is there; and if not, I have the memory on which to lean my heart.

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