My Daddy

I am telling on myself here but when in elementary school, I did not like to read. No one at home read, that I ever saw, so I guess that is my excuse. I wasn't good at reading. I didn't know a lot of words and that seemed to mess up the whole book I would be attempting to read.

Book reports were a requirement. bummer Although back when I was young I didn't say bummer, I would stick out my tongue to display my bummer attitude when no one was looking...giggle

I found a book in the school library that was not too thick. I found a book that had few words on each page. I found a book that made me think of me and a part of my life so I checked it out. I read it over and over again. As I absorbed the words, they melted and became a part of me. I decided I loved reading.

...and so when book report time came I didn't even have to check the book back out, I had memorized all the words. It was a breeze.

...and so when the next year book report time came, I didn't even have to check a book out. I had a book I loved memorized and so again, I flew through the report and turned it in without once sticking my tongue out.

Here comes the bummer part. Teacher read it and handed it back with a big, fat, red F on it along with a note. Nancy, this is the same book from last year. You must read a new book and do a book report on it or you will keep this F for your grade.

What's with that? Having to grow and learn more words and expand my territory by reading new books that might take me on travels that I have never experienced? What's with that? Oh ya, I was in

S C H O O L !

I complied. I was an obedient child and student.

However, that story book stayed etched in my brain. Don't ask me to quote it to you now but I can still give you the just of it. ...a little child plays at home. At a certain time each day during the week, the little child senses it is time and walks down the sidewalk to stand at the curb and wait. Suddenly a city bus appears. The little child says, "Here comes daddy." Daddy got off the bus and smiles as he sees the little child. Daddy takes the little child's hand as they walk side by side, in step, down the sidewalk back to their house.

It was me, my life, at the time. I kinda sorta have told you about my father. We had an odd relationship although, at the time I didn't know it and I don't suspect he did either. I remember during those years dad was home more, opting to not go oversees for a few years. I recall the walk along the sidewalk, up the block, to the curb where I would wait for the city bus to bring my daddy home. I would stand alert as the bus door opened, keeping my eyes fixed on the steps waiting for the familiar set of shiny brown shoes. Finally, there was my daddy. He didn't smile like the daddy in the book but our eyes did meet. He didn't hold my hand but I did skip steps from time to time on our walk home so I could walk in step with him. We walked in silence like the little child and the daddy in the book although I suspect the little child and the daddy did have conversations that were not mentioned.

I never knew if my father was OK with me meeting him at the bus stop. I don't know why I loved him so when he didn't show affection, when I never heard I love you or receive a hug. Through the silence and through the times when he threw out cutting words, I loved him still.

~~

I know a little child who loves his daddy. When he hears his daddy's car pulling into the driveway, he does a power walk to the door to greet his daddy with a smile. Sometimes his daddy returns the smile, most times the daddy does not and walks right past him as if he were not there at all. The little child asks someone why but there is no answer to be given, not even the daddy seems to know why.

The daddy does not show the little child affection very often. The little child receives silence and cutting words in their direction, but they love their daddy still. I suspect if they were to take a walk, the little child would skip a step or two in order to walk in sync with his daddy.

~~

Out of all the things I could pass on in the way of patterns, that pattern of loving still, I am unclear on whether it is a good pattern to pass on or not. The Lord says to love. The Lord says to forgive. I am unclear and disturbed by it all but I do know that I love my daddy still and someday, perhaps, I can tell him face to face. Maybe, just maybe, if I could have told my daddy that I loved him back when, he would have told me he loved me too.