IT WAS ONLY YESTERDAY

It was a rare snow day.  The Puget Sound Area may get a good snow once or twice every other year.  Because of the wet, mild climate in the Winter when it snows its bad drivin’ and good sleddin’.   The snow is generally heavy and wet.  It packs well for igloos, snow balls, snow forts, and sledding hills.

And there are hills.  Many hills and steep.  Roads are barricaded. Schools are closed. It is time to play.

The father took his three year old boy out in the snow to sled a great hill in the neighborhood park.  The boy had rarely seen or been in snow so it was a special treat.  The father regaled the son with memories of his childhood growing up in the Puget Sound area during snow days.  As they headed for the park with sled in tow throwing snowballs at each other and laughing with the joy of the moment.

They joined other kids and parents at the hill. They were sliding down on anything that slid:  inner tubes, disks, cardboard sheets, varieties of plastic sleds and faux toboggans.  The father and boy climbed up to the top of the hill and waited their turn.  The hill looked like a cliff to the little boy.  But, he was with his Dad who always took care of him.  He trusted him and felt secure.  When it was their turn the Dad sat in the back and the boy sat in front tucked in between his legs, with big arms holding him tight.  Off they went streaking down the hill, the boy squealing in sheer delight.  Before they stopped the boy turned around with wide smile and bright eyes and asked, “Dad! Can we go again?” 

“Of course!”  And they did each time an exhilarating rush occasionally highlighted with crash that elicited much laughter. 

After a few runs they once again waited in line at the top of the hill.  Just prior to their next run the boy turned to his Dad and asked, “Can I go by myself?”

His Dad said, “Sure.”, a he helped the boy settle in the middle of the sled.  The bright smile never left the boy’s face.  There may have been a hint of impending terror in his eyes – but not much. As his Dad released him the boy looked back to confirm he was still there.

Suddenly a lump came to the Dad’s throat.  It was the first time his boy wanted to go it alone.  It symbolized that being together father and son was not always going to be.  As his son slid further way and his image got smaller the future unveiled itself.  Time goes very fast and what is today doesn’t mean it is the same as tomorrow.  Everyone needs to enjoy the moment.  Today. Now.  The Dad felt a mixture of pride and sadness as he enjoyed his son’s courage and sense of adventure yet realized that it was the beginning of separation.

DAD FINALLY GETS IT

As a writer I wish I wrote this. But am happy that I found it and read it.

-       Bill Neville

In the faint light of the attic, an old man, tall and stooped, bent his great frame and made his way to a stack of boxes that sat near one of the little half-windows. Brushing aside a wisp of cobwebs, he tilted the top box toward the light and began to carefully lift out one old photograph album after another. Eyes once bright but now dim searched longingly for the source that had drawn him here.

It began with the fond recollection of the love of his life, long gone, and somewhere in these albums was a photo of her he hoped to rediscover. Silent as a mouse, he patiently opened the long buried treasures and soon was lost in a sea of memories. Although his world had not stopped spinning when his wife left it, the past was more alive in his heart than his present aloneness.

Setting aside one of the dusty albums, he pulled from the box what appeared to be a journal from his grown son's childhood. He could not recall ever having seen it before, or that his son had ever kept a journal. Why did Elizabeth always save the children's old junk? he wondered, shaking his white head.

Opening the yellowed pages, he glanced over a short reading, and his lips curved in an unconscious smile. Even his eyes brightened as he read the words that spoke clear and sweet to his soul. It was the voice of the little boy who had grown up far too fast in this very house, and whose voice had grown fainter and fainter over the years. In the utter silence of the attic, the words of a guileless six-year-old worked their magic and carried the old man back to a time almost totally forgotten.

Entry after entry stirred a sentimental hunger in his heart like the longing a gardener feels in the winter for the fragrance of spring flowers. But it was accompanied by the painful memory that his son's simple recollections of those days were far different from his own. But how different?

Reminded that he had kept a daily journal of his business activities over the years, he closed his son's journal and turned to leave, having forgotten the cherished photo that originally triggered his search. Hunched over to keep from bumping his head on the rafters, the old man stepped to the wooden stairway and made his descent, then headed down a carpeted stairway that led to the den.

Opening a glass cabinet door, he reached in and pulled out an old business journal. Turning, he sat down at his desk and placed the two journals beside each other. His was leather-bound and engraved neatly with his name in gold, while his son's was tattered and the name Jimmy had been nearly scuffed from its surface. He ran a long skinny finger over the letters, as though he could restore what had been worn away with time and use.

As he opened his journal, the old man's eyes fell upon an inscription that stood out because it was so brief in comparison to other days. In his own neat handwriting were these words:

Wasted the whole day fishing with Jimmy. Didn't catch a thing.

With a deep sigh and a shaking hand, he took Jimmy's journal and found the boy's entry for the same day, June 4. Large scrawling letters, pressed deeply into the paper, read:

Went fishing with my Dad. Best day of my life.