"FATHERS"
© 2000 Trudy Le Beau
A ball goes whizzing by my head,
A child breaks out in uncontrolled laughter.
A tumbleweed of arms and legs roll past me
Like battling villains in a cartoon show.
There at the bottom of the pile is my husband
With one giggling child draped on his back and another
Trying to wrest the football from his hands.
As I watch, my vision blurs as I attempt to remember
Any memory of such play between my father and me.
Our play was not so intimate; no touching, no hugging.
Only play done at arm's length; being pulled on a sled
Or taught how to shoot a clay bird.
My father was a good man, although he had succumbed
To society's demand that men of his generation have children.
He would have been much happier to have been childless.
To have spent his money on travel and song rather than
Piano lessons and Keds sneakers.
As distant as my father could be,
There were outward signs of caring.
He was always willing to carry in the sofa
Each of the ten times I moved.
He was my first phone call the first night in a new place
Asking if I had locked my doors and windows
Or if my car was running all right.
Did I need any money?
His way of saying "I love you."
Requests for loans were always met
With much snarling, complete with lectures
To ensure we knew whose hard-earned money was being bestowed.
Yet after the routine of grumbling was over,
We often received more than we had asked for;
His generosity his way of saying "I love you."
For speaking those words
Was nearly impossible for him to do.
The only time I clearly remember hearing them
Was the night I sat at his bedside
Reassuring him that he would get through the chemotherapy
And that I and my sisters loved him and would be with him.
He took his life that next morning,
Standing at the grave site of a beloved dog.
A few days later, I again witnessed the struggle
Of a father saying those words to his son
As my husband embraced his father at the funeral.
Afraid of loss, realizing how fragilely we exist
He, for the first time he could remember,
Told his dad he loved him. And heard the response.
As my eyes clear and I am brought back to the present,
I wonder if my children realize
What a gift their father is.
They have known nothing else in their short lives
Other than a father who hugs them first,
Whose expression of bliss
When his lap is full of children
Is a vision of pure joy.
A man who is unashamed
To let his children see him weep.
A man who never hesitates to tell his children
How much he loves them.
I think of how this man's ability to love
Will trickle down through the coming generations.
How his children will be able to openly love their children,
And how his grandchildren will pass on
This openness to their children.
How fatherhood will be changed for the better
For every generation of our family to come.
What a legacy!
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