I often thought it was strange how older people took naps in the middle of the day.
One afternoon around 2 p.m., while visiting my parents in Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania, I caught my dad, Vern, wrapped around his pillow, sound asleep. I knew he was out of it because he made these little double-time breathing sounds, as if he was catching up to a breath he forgot to take seconds before.
“Dad, wake up,” I said, not-so-gently tapping his shoulder. “You’re sounding weird.” Vern jerked to attention and looked about for several seconds without knowing what the heck was going on. I got a kick out of the whole experience.
Now, most afternoons around 2 p.m., I sneak out of the office and drive the three miles home to wrap my arms around my favorite pillow. Almost to the minute, at 2:30 p.m., Nigel J. Wiggins barks. And for a few precious seconds, I have no idea who I am and what’s going on.
Then I smile and think of my wonderful father, Vern, my nap pioneer.