As a young boy in elementary school I used to hurry home after school, change from my school clothes; to my play clothes and then I would walk to the highway that bisected the town. I wasn’t allowed to cross the busy road but I would sit on the curb and wait for the whistle that signaled the end of the day at the car shops, across those many rows of steel rails. I would see dad coming a long way off and he would always look tired and dirty, even troubled, his overalls caked with dirt and grease.
As dad approached he would get a tiny grin out of the corner of his mouth. He would give me his dinner pail to carry and sometimes there would be a piece of cake or a cookie in there and he always said, “He just couldn’t eat it all.” He would tell me to eat it and don’t tell mom or she might not give him another one.
But the thing I remember the most is he would always give me his forefinger to hang on to while we walked home because his hands were dirty and oily. He would ask me about school or my friends, as if he genuinely cared. As soon as we got home though, he had many more kids to pay attention to and our special time would be over for the day.
When Dad passed away, 50 some years later he was already comatose before I got to the hospital. The whole family was gathered around his bedside. There were no other chairs so I sat on the end of the bed. Dad’s hands were crossed and someone had placed the family Bible under them. In my grief I reached down and only took his forefinger and squeezed it in my hand and I couldn’t let go. That same finger I had held so many times as a kid. Even though the room was crowded with family I felt alone with dad again. Even as close as we had been over the years I had renewed a bond that I had all but forgotten about. I wept silently and the others left the room. I told him how much I loved him and then I finally let go of his finger. He passed a few hours later.
I’m sure your dad was special too. Maybe you were his princess and you remember that night at the father--daughter dance when he told you, you were the prettiest girl on the floor, even when you smiled and your braces showed. Or how he would sneak food off your plate when Mom’s back was turned and hold his finger to his lips because she told you that you had to sit there until you ate it. Or farther back yet when he held onto the back of your bicycle after he took the training wheels off and collapsed in the front yard after running for six blocks and you thought he was having a heart attack so you cried and he laughed and hugged you or the day he gave you away to your high school sweetheart and he had to hide his face because a little bitty tear got in the way. He bought a pitch back for your big brother so he could show him how to hit a baseball and father and son practiced until it was so dark you couldn’t see the ball because he wanted him to be the ball player he never was. Then the day your brother graduated from the Police Academy and Dad’s heart swelled with pride once more. Happy Fathers Day Dad
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