navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » A Daddy's Moment
Passions in Prose
Post A Reply Post New Topic A Daddy's Moment Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
Rodney Belcher
Member
since 2000-06-06
Posts 227
Taylor, Michigan

0 posted 2000-06-07 10:14 PM


        She is physically spent. Her little eyelids are heavy from the anesthesia and she looks much older than the five years she has been on this earth. Only five years, but they have been five years full of hospital visits and surgical cuts. Considering her time under the knife, she is a relatively much older person than both her parents.


        Granted, as surgeries go this was a simple one. But to a parent, any surgery wrecks havoc on your soul. Your baby being cut on in a cold unfeeling room by people you don’t know. Sure you have met them and they seem competent and personable. They are professionals; but it still makes you wonder if they might be late for tee time and not give it their best effort.


        Stroking her light hair, she turns her head towards me. There is a residue on her mouth, probably a combination of saliva and blood from the tonsillectomy. The big brown eyes that are usually so full of life and expressive have a dull look to them.


        “Hey boo boo,” I say softly.

        Usually this is followed by a “Daddy!”  and a leg hug. But not today, today I get a very faint smile and my baby nods back to sleep for a few seconds.


        I continue to brush her hair back from her tiny face. Looking down at her hands I notice one has an I.V. in it and the other hand has blood on the back of it. I pick up her small hand and place my finger in the palm of it. She squeezes it and I feel good because she knows her daddy’s finger.


        Another child, someone else’s baby, cries out. There are several children in the recovery room. I look around at each of the bays. Most kids have both parents, but a few only have a mom. Some of the babies are held by mom, some still in their beds with mom and dad hovering over them, trying to soothe their child with gentle words and popsicles.


        The nurses and aides are flitting about helping to make the transition from surgery to home smooth. Offering ice cream and juice to the children and coffee to the parents, they remain very upbeat and friendly in spite of the fact they do this every day of the year. It surprises me that an assembly line mentality hasn’t overcome them.

        
         Krysta wakes every so often because of a strange cry from another bay or the nurse checking in on her. The eyes half open then shut a few seconds later. Occasionally she wakes up and manages to get out an “I’m thirsty” through her sore raspy throat. I respond as quickly as I can to hand her the tiny juice box, positioning the straw between her tiny lips so she can take a sip to quench her thirst.

        
        As she sleeps for a few more peaceful seconds, I reflect on my childhood. I was one of the kids with only one parent. Although I was fortunate that I did have a stepfather who was more of a dad than my biological father could have ever hoped to be.

        
        Growing up, the absence of my father never really bothered me. Now that I have children of my own, I wonder how any “man” could not want to be there for their child. I understand that sometimes people cannot get along and splitting up may be the best for all concerned. My wife and I have had problems over our marriage, but I would never let that stand in the way of my children. But now for some reason, after 32 years, my father not being in my life bothers me.

        
        I always wondered about him growing up. My mom was honest with me about the situation. She didn’t know where he was, but was willing to find him if I wanted. But I never did. She was married twice as I was growing up and both men took care of us rather well. This is not to say I liked both of them at the time, but I respected them for providing for mom and me.


        I was a decent kid in high school. I got into some minor trouble. I was a bit of a bully because I was older and much bigger than the other kids were. I ran the streets and did some typical juvenile things: broke stuff, spray painted walls, shoplifted, experimenting with marijuana and drinking. I’m not proud of what I did, but I was not nearly as bad as I could have been.


        Looking back I could have done much worse and used the “broken home” situation as an excuse. But I had two things that stopped me: fear and pride. First was my fear that my grandparents or uncles would find out. That would have crushed me because even back then my family meant so much to me. Second was the fact that I had too much pride in myself. I wanted to have fun, but not be a trouble child. I knew one day I would need to be a responsible adult and didn’t want a troubled past spoiling it for me.


        My young adulthood was like most others starting out. I married young, at 21, and we got out on our own with second hand furniture and more bills than money coming in. We always seemed to have enough money for a party though. Our house was the party pad seeing how we were the only ones with our own place.


        Eventually it gets old; friends pair off and children start to happen. All of our friends had kids and most were already divorced before Lora and I were able to conceive. We lost a baby at five months in our third year of marriage, but that was as close as we had come. Finally after six years we were blessed with Krysta.


        Around the fourth month of pregnancy, I received a call from a co-worker. He said that my “dad” had called, said that he wanted to meet me and left a number.


        I was dumbfounded.


        Coming from out of nowhere, I could only sit and try to rationalize what I had just heard. Here I am 27 and didn’t really need a “dad” in my life now. I was going to be a father myself in a few months. I was really wrestling with whether I should or shouldn’t call him back.


       “Well?  Are you going to call him or not?” my wife’s voice broke the silence.


       “Uhh…I don’t know,” I feebly responded.


       “What do ya mean ‘I don’t know?’” she asked.


        So I called my mom, hoping she would have an answer for me.


       “It’s up to you,” she said. “If you want me to go with you I will.”


        I decided that would be best. She would be able to smooth things over and make it easier. After all, I didn’t really know this man. To be honest, I didn’t know if I wanted to know him either after 27 years.

        
        We walked into my aunt’s house and stood in the kitchen for a few seconds. My dad was in the living room and boy was I nervous. I had met my grandfather, two aunts, and one uncle on my father’s side, but nothing really prepared me for this.


        I walked into the living room and sat down. My dad made a comment about how big I was and a comment about not beating him up for all the years of neglect. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Talking to him was nice and easy. I didn’t put too much stock in it ever being more than this one meeting and even told him the same in a letter I gave him as he was leaving to go back home.


        He wrote back and told me that he was committed to a new relationship with me, that although he wasn’t much of a writer, that he would like to talk on the phone and keep in touch, maybe even visit and told me that we were welcome out there anytime.


        For two years he was true to his word, we talked at least every three weeks or so. Then for some reason, he moved, not giving me his new address. My last call to him was kind of unfeeling and short. He was very ill tempered and I decided I’d let him call me the next time we talked. It has been three years and I am still waiting.


        My daughter stirs a little and opens her eyes again. I look at her and not a word is said by either of us, but it is a look that only daddy can share with her. A small tear is in my eye because I never had that with my dad. It makes me feel special that I can be there for her.


        I pull the car up to the door and the nurse and my wife are waiting for me with my little angel sitting in a wheelchair. Lifting her out of the wheelchair and into the car, I kiss her on the forehead and gently place her on the seat. Her little smile warms my heart as I shut the door.


        I sometimes want to hate my dad for all the things he missed with me while I was growing up. But then I think after all the things I have experienced with my children-a word or a look or touch that only a dad can appreciate-I realize that the punishment has already been doled out. Because your children are only yours for a short time-everything that is missed and all the love that goes unfulfilled can never be made up. My “dad” taught me that by not being around.

< !signature-->

 



[This message has been edited by Rodney Belcher (edited 06-08-2000).]

© Copyright 2000 Rodney Belcher - All Rights Reserved
Songbird
Member Elite
since 1999-12-15
Posts 2184
Missouri
1 posted 2000-06-07 10:24 PM


Rodney what a powerful piece of writing! I couldn't stop reading, and the ending brought me to tears. I usually do not prowl around in the prose very often but just happened to be here tonight posting a piece in memory of my son, who would have been 24 years old this coming Saturday. I agree totally with the concept that your Dad is one to be pitied for letting himself miss out on your life. God bless you and your family. Rose
Rodney Belcher
Member
since 2000-06-06
Posts 227
Taylor, Michigan
2 posted 2000-06-07 10:50 PM


Thanks for your reply Rose and sorry about your son, losing a child is hard. The son we lost would have been 10 and I still wonder "what if...?" all the time. But my motto is that God has a reason for everything and that he never puts more than we can handle on us. Fortunately, despair builds character and makes us appreciate those things that we DO have...again thanks for expressing your thoughts...

[This message has been edited by Rodney Belcher (edited 06-08-2000).]

jbouder
Member Elite
since 1999-09-18
Posts 2534
Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash
3 posted 2000-06-08 09:33 PM


Rodney:

I am not a stranger to these experiences you describe (nice job of describing them, by the way).  The last paragraph is particularly grabbing.  Very good job.

Jim

Munda
Member Elite
since 1999-10-08
Posts 3544
The Hague, The Netherlands
4 posted 2000-06-11 11:45 AM


You managed to have me sit next to your daughter's bed and walk with you through memory lane. Very well described !
Post A Reply Post New Topic ⇧ top of page ⇧ Go to Previous / Newer Topic Back to Topic List Go to Next / Older Topic
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format.
navwin » Main Forums » Passions in Prose » A Daddy's Moment

Passions in Poetry | pipTalk Home Page | Main Poetry Forums | 100 Best Poems

How to Join | Member's Area / Help | Private Library | Search | Contact Us | Login
Discussion | Tech Talk | Archives | Sanctuary