Letter to Dad from Colorado

| September 24, 2017 | 0 Comments

Dear Dad,

The Rockies are a far cry from the green slopes of New Hampshire.

(Not better or worse, just different.)

I’m ashamed that I don’t know if you ever visited Colorado. I know a lot of places you went to, but I wish I could ask you this one question. Did you ever go to Colorado? Did you like it?

(I think you would.)

I know we never got around to that southwest trip you always talked about. To fly out to one of those red-tinged states, rent a car, and drive through that corner of America. Arches National Park, the Grand Canyon, Santa Fe, the four corners. We always talked about it, but most summers we’d just follow our well-worn route up to New Hampshire, to the places that are sticky sweet with ice cream and sunblock and sweat and nostalgia.

(I never grew bored of those trips, no matter how many times we took them.)

It hurts to think about going to places we talked about but never went. It’s not a pain like a burn that screams Stop! Don’t do that, it’s dangerous, you’re going to hurt yourself. It’s a pain like dabbing hydrogen peroxide on a scraped knee. It stings but you know that’s only because it’s cleaning the wound.

(When it hurts though, it’s hard to tell the difference between types of pain.)

I wish we’d gone to Colorado together. I wish we’d gone all the places we mentioned lazily, thinking Some year we’ll get to it, but this year let’s just stick to our routine. 

(How could we know we’d run out of summers so soon?)

I still want to go to the places we talked about, and the ones we didn’t. I want to go to new places and think of you, Dad. Think about the trips we did take and didn’t get to take and the places you went on your own and the places I’ll go on my own and whether you would like The Rockies or not.

(I think you would.)

I miss you. I’ll tell you what I think of the Grand Canyon when I get there.

(Hydrogen peroxide on a scraped knee.)

Love always,



featured photo credit: mine

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Category: Food and Travel, Nature, Poetry, Prose and Comedy, Reflections

Ellen Asermely

About the Author ()

Ellen Asermely is a senior (!) in the Pardee School studying International Relations. Born and raised in Rhode Island, the smallest but weirdest state, she enjoys coffee milk, the Big Blue Bug, and Awful Awfuls. In her free time, Ellen can be found by the ocean, eating anything with cheese on it, reading Harry Potter, or hugging strangers' dogs.

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