Giving Thanks to My Father

December 4, 2005

During my recent trip to Virginia in October, my Mom requested an outing to Yorktown Beach. The beachfront had been renovated in the past year and she wanted to see what had changed. She also wanted to have lunch at a new beachfront restaurant with dad and me.

When we arrived, it was too early for lunch, so we walked around the faux 18th century setting, taking in the amazing brickwork and human-scaled buildings. It had the feel of a small Williamsburg without the pressure from History and crowds. Eventually, we made our way to the beachfront.

As she sat with Dad on a bench facing the York River, I used binoculars to scout the different ships on the water. Way upriver, I noticed a ship coming our way from the ***. After a lotta guesses with mom, a Los Angeles Class attack submarine came into view. It was being escorted from the *** in a security bubble I've never seen before. Nothing from the land, sea or air could touch it. They had thought of everything.

As I watched the sub come closer, I tried to find the old post office wharf near the Coleman Bridge. Mom said it had been demolished last year in the renovation, yet I still looked for it. I needed it to be there. It seemed so silly. It was just a wharf we fished from when I was a kid.

As I thought about that wharf, I realized it was always special to me and I never understood why. I even took some of my college dates to that wharf. We'd walk around and eventually sit to watch the river. Why was I drawn to that decrepit wharf?

I always thought it was one of my idiosyncrasies - I couldn't explain it, I just did it. Even on the most recent trips to see my folks, I went to Yorktown Beach and looked for the wharf. Somehow, it always made me feel better. I couldn't understand why... and I didn't try. I lost a lotta of my old Virginia memories from the chronic pain, but they're slowly coming back.

When the sub was a mere 400 feet from shore, I saw a sailor on one of the ***s bend down and pick up something from the deck. For whatever reason, I looked upriver searching for the wharf, but it was gone. Of course, it was gone. Then I remembered why that wharf was so important to me.

My father had saved my life on that wharf when I was 12 years old.

Dad, Steve and I were fishing on the former ferry landing, along with some teenage girls and their families. As Dad helped Steve attach bloodworms to his bottom rig, I found the perfect spot to fish. It was at the far corner away from them.

Being twelve, I needed to be away from my family to look cool. Well, cool or not, my line soon got caught on an old piling below the surface. As I tried to unsnag it, I lost my balance and slowly tipped over.

The wharf was a treacherous place for anyone to fall from. The submerged rocks promised broken limbs from the 15-foot fall and a strong current drew anything without fins to mid-channel. No one, not even strong swimmers, ventured far from shore.

I knew I was a goner and waited for the water to come up to me, but that didn't happen. A big bear paw welded itself to my shoulder and brought me safely back to the deck. It was my father's hand, having lifted me as easily as he'd picked up a screwdriver from his tool drawer in the garage. How did he get from way over there to here?

He didn't yell at me as he usually did for one of my boneheaded acts. I was $hit scared and it musta shown on my face. My Dad looked at me strangely, softened his stance and quietly asked me if I was OK.

I couldn't use my voice. I knew if I tried, I'd cry and I didn't want to do that in front of the girls, so I nodded my headed, yes. He put his hand on my shoulder and we walked over to the tackle box. There he asked me if I wanted to fix up another bottom rig and I nodded again. He said good, put his big bear paw on my shoulder and went over to help Steve.

I ashamed to say nothing more was said or mentioned about his saving grace that day. It was lost in my transition from child to teenager when I needed my father to be my adversary. In order to be myself, I had to deny everything about him, including his kind and unselfish acts. Over the years, I became wiser and cherished those traits we shared, both good and bad, because it made us who we are.

I wanted to share all of that with my father and say "Thank You, Dad, for saving me", but I couldn't. The "long time coming" came for my father last year and it was too early in the day for him to fully recognize me. And I couldn't explain it to my mom. We were here to talk about happy things. It was a promise we made before leaving the house.

In frustration, I let the tears run down my face as I watched the sub ease down the river and wished things were different. My Mom saw me use a Kleenex on my eyes, but she didn't say anything. She knew why I was crying.

I wondered why I remembered it now and not years ago, then I realized our roles had not changed until this visit. Before, in some small way, he could still protect me as my father. Now, I protected him and the memory came forward.

I finished taking photos and walked back to my Mom and Dad on the bench. They were a loving couple who had known each other for over 60 years, sitting as older couples do: close together, sharing their warmth and time, accustomed to both and each other. She held one of his hands as he busied himself with his shirt.

Mom asked me, "Did you get enough pictures, sweetheart?"

She could see it in my eyes, having known me all my life, that I wanted to talk about Dad, but I'd made a promise and I kept it.

So rather than talking about Dad, we played our ancient roles. She was a Mom eagerly listening to her son describe the big machine that just went by. Mothers do that for their sons, no matter how old their sons are. Well, this little boy was 51 years old and talked like a five-year-old describing his first pony ride.

We both performed our roles well and I loved my Mom even more for letting me go on like that. I even said a few things that Dad would've said and used his mannerisms. I wondered if Mom saw that? She probably did. It was an homage to a man we both love.

It was time for us to get on to the restaurant. With Mom holding Dad's hand and with me resting my hand on his shoulder, we guided him along the brick walkway. I whispered into the wind towards the spot where the old wharf had been. "Thank you, Dad".

My Mom looked over at me. "I'm glad you're here, Mike."

I kept my voice even, hiding the slight tremble that wanted to get out and make my eyes water again. I lightly tightened my hand on my father's shoulder.

"I am too, Mom."

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Ed the bear walks into a bar.

The bartender asks him, "What'll ya have?".

Ed sez, "Gimmee a burger and..... a Coke."

The bartender asks, "Why the big pause?"

Ed laughs and sez, "Cuz, I'm a bear".

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