I saw my first fireflies of the season tonight. Fireflies are still a big deal to me, for a couple of reasons.
First, I am from California, and fireflies don't live there. I had never seen them until I moved to the East Coast on the mid-90s. One day I walked across a green near my apartment, and it was covered in fireflies. I thought someone had strung lights across the lawn. It was enchanting.
The other reason is a little more involved. I'll start by saying I'm close to both of my parents, but I talk to my mom more often. Dad and I have an occasional long chat, they're just fewer and further between than the talks with Mom.
So I saw these beautiful fireflies, and called home, because I'm a cheeseball and had to share. It just so happened that my dad answered the phone that night. I fully expected him to say "that's nice" when he heard about the fireflies. Because let's face it, they're not that exciting.
Instead, he was thrilled. He started telling me stories of when he was little and went back to visit his grandparents in Ohio. They would catch fireflies in glass jars and keep them in their rooms to watch. He was so excited that I had seen some my first summer in Maryland.
So now, every year the fireflies show up, I think of my dad and his excitement over a simple story. Here's to you, Dad. It's firefly season.