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Forgive
He remembered how his father would do the same, walking around in his slippers and sweatshirt, thinking to himself. He was five years old the first time – he woke up early and went downstairs to sneak some cereal into his room and then ran into his father instead.
“Hey champ,” he had said. “What are you doing up so early?”
“Nothing,” he lied, as little kids caught in the act do.
“Well, if you’re not doing much, you want to watch the sun rise with me?”
“Sure. Where do we watch it from?”
“Let’s sit outside.” So, they grabbed the box of Cheerios from the cupboard and went outside to sit in the foldable lawn chairs in tacky neon pink, yellow, and blue, and they watched the grass and the trees and the squirrels until a cap of yellow peaked out from behind the fence.
And he had loved his father then, in that bright silence, both of them popping Cheerios in their mouths and feeling like men together as they watched the world wake up.
He now paced the house alone, preferring to watch the sun slowly shine through the thinly veiled windows that surrounded the front half of the bottom floor.
He had learned essential lessons from him in those mornings – how to sneak a cookie from the top kitchen shelf without letting his mother notice, how to read chapter books, how to win Tic-Tac-Toe every time, how to climb a tree and bother Mr. Squirrel and his family without getting bitten.
To whom would he pass these lessons on?
His mother was a woman of God, just like Annette, and she believed in the power of love. After his father left them, she wasn’t in love with him anymore, but she still tried to love him to the best of her abilities when he came back. For she had believed that he would come back, even if the guilt trip that caused his return were temporary.
“Love covers over a multitude of wrongs,” she would tell Harry.
“Why cover over them when we should just get rid of them?” he would retort in his teenage years. Just get rid of him, he revised mentally.
But she didn’t give up, and pushed the three males of the family to go on a day trip, although Peter ended up getting sick at the last minute and couldn’t go.
“I don’t have to go if Peter can’t go,” Harry pleaded with his mother. “That’s just unfair to him – he was looking forward to it more than I was.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “He can go with you guys another time.” And he knew she was actually saying, plus, he’s already close to your father – you’re not.
He was sixteen when the trip took place. They packed fishing gear and drove for hours in silence.
The silence at first was uncomfortable – neither genuinely wanted to be there – but as telephone pole after telephone pole passed by, they fell into a lull, looking at the road ahead or the scenery passing them by.
They stopped at a roadside diner for lunch. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. His father ordered a reuben and a coffee – black, with sugar. They ate silently.
The coffee machine signaled the end of its round, and he poured himself a cup, stirring a spoonful of sugar in. He stared at the windows becoming brighter every minute.
“How are you doing in school?” his father had asked him after the long silence.
“Fine.”
“Getting good marks?”
“Yeah.”
They then continued to eat in silence.
Annette suggested they visit his father together, so they packed a snack and some of his father’s favorite books and made a trip to the hospital.
He was sleeping when they walked in. Harry watched his father’s chest rise and fall inconsistently, the faint fluttering of his eyes behind his eyelids, the jerk of his left foot every few minutes. Annette wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his temple, and they watched his father sleep together for a while.
He had never given his father credit for being his father – he always considered himself independent and the “real” head of the family. And now that his father finally seemed dependent on him, the feeling was strange.
“I’ve given it more thought,” he had told Annette the other day.
“What do you mean?” She was folding laundry.
“About…you know.”
Annette looked up at him, unyielding. “About?”
“Adoption.” The syllables faltered, but he knew it was something he had to say.
She dropped the shirt she was currently folding and stared at him. “And?” Her voice wobbled.
“It’s…not such a bad idea.” He sighed. “I don’t know how we would go about the process, but – ” He was cut off by his wife hugging him suddenly.
He felt hot tears wet his cheek and shoulder. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you.” She clasped his face and searched his eyes, perhaps for any hint of reconsideration or lying, and upon finding none, kissed him before saying “thank you” one more time.
The two smiled and finished folding laundry together, with a weight now off their chests. But Harry still did feel qualms he knew he would have to conquer everyday until the adoption took place. Or perhaps, even after.
His father slowly opened his eyes, piercing coughs overtaking him as he woke up. He gestured to the glass of water sitting on the bedside table, cringing and shaking his head with every cough. Annette quickly handed him the cup.
He drank hurriedly, body shaking and hacking out a few more coughs before breathing deeply and returning to silence. Annette attended to the water that had dribbled down the side of his mouth as he drank with a napkin, then set down the glass back on the table.
“You’re back again,” he said softly, not enough fiery energy behind his almost-accusation.
“Yes, I am,” Harry replied.
“Thought I told you that I didn’t need you here.”
“I wanted to come see you,” Annette interrupted.
“An unnecessary desire,” his father answered, closing his eyes again.
“Just to drop off some books and see how you were doing,” she persistently added.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the books she had placed on the table. “My eyes are too tired to read these days,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? I’m a dying man. Why read when it will all be forgotten soon?”
“She was just trying to brighten your day a bit,” Harry explained through gritted teeth.
“And a book is the answer to happiness? How trite.”
“You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “We’ll take them back.”
“Of course, you don’t ever think about doing anything for me, right?”
“That’s not what he meant, Saul. We can bring your favorite music next time – Sinatra, right?”
“Annette, don’t try so hard to gain my approval after all these years if you can’t even help continue the Mitchell line.”
His father sat still. Harry was waiting for his retaliation, rage and disappointment and frustration and fear coursing through his body, but it never came. The whole room fell silent for a few minutes.
“Annette reminds me of your mother,” his father suddenly said. “And I didn’t deserve your mother, or her love.”
“You’re right,” Harry said.
“But you deserve Annette.” He coughed lightly. “And you deserve a child, just like you, so you can get hell from him.” He paused, giving Harry a half-smile – the first smile he had seen on his face in years. “And so you can redeem my fatherhood.”
Before their diner meal was over, Harry had asked, “Why did you come back?”
“We’re leaving in three minutes,” his father had answered. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we go.”
They caught no fish that day. And he never bothered to ask his father again.
“You know, Harry, when you were born, I had a lot of power. I was intelligent and skilled, renown for my work and my prestige. I was fit and handsome, finally married to a beautiful and loving woman, but after she had you, for some reason, I went into some sort of post-partum depression instead of her. I wasn’t ready to be a father after all, even though your mother and I were so happy during the period she was pregnant.” He looked out the window before continuing. “I stuck it out, thinking things could get better. To help, I drank and hung out with my colleagues, but I couldn’t handle being at home anymore, so I decided I needed to get out. I found the first cute nurse that would have me, which wasn’t hard, and got the hell out of there. I spent time with her and other gorgeous girls, consumed whatever alcohol and food suited my fancies, all while trying to make more money and earn more respect from my field.”
He went into a coughing fit, alarming both him and Annette. She handed him the water glass again, and waited for his coughing to die out.
“I should have been having the time of my life. And while I was living it, I did, I won’t lie. But when I found times of quiet by myself, or as I lay awake at night, I felt the same as I did before I ever left. Everything was meaningless – knowledge, money, power, company. So I came back.” Harry watched his father grow silent again, as if reliving his emotions from the past. “And then, I realized I had missed everything meaningful.” He laughed bitterly. “I watched myself become nothing to you – what did it matter what I meant to others, as a mentor or an inspiration, if I didn’t mean anything to my own son?”
Annette clasped Harry’s hand, and he felt his face get hot as his eyes became wet.
“Your mother was too good to me. And because I couldn’t forgive myself, even though she said she did and that even her God did, I ended up trying to run away more.” His father’s voice started to shake, the walls crumbling as he spoke. Harry couldn’t bear to watch and had to look up to avoid the awkwardness of seeing the image of his cruel and resilient father get emotional. “I’m nothing right now, Harry. I came into this world as nothing and I’m leaving as nothing. I’m not even a father to you or Natalie. And for someone who was always told that he was something, I can’t handle this. I’m dying and bitter and powerless and I’m back in the same place I was over 30 years ago. That’s my real sickness, not this cancer crap they’re throwing at me.”
Harry got up abruptly and walked quickly out of the room. As he stared at the white walls, he finally let go of the tears he had been holding for his father for the past 28 years.
A pair of yellow shoes stood in front of him. Then she bent down to clasp his face. “You okay?” she asked.
“It’s painful,” he admitted, “but refreshing.”
“That’s what forgiveness is, sweetie,” she whispered. “That’s what love is.”
“I guess.”
She handed him tissues, then kissed his forehead. “Wipe your nose. We’re all going to be okay now.”
He now paced the house alone, preferring to watch the sun slowly shine through the thinly veiled windows that surrounded the front half of the bottom floor.
He had learned essential lessons from him in those mornings – how to sneak a cookie from the top kitchen shelf without letting his mother notice, how to read chapter books, how to win Tic-Tac-Toe every time, how to climb a tree and bother Mr. Squirrel and his family without getting bitten.
To whom would he pass these lessons on?
His mother was a woman of God, just like Annette, and she believed in the power of love. After his father left them, she wasn’t in love with him anymore, but she still tried to love him to the best of her abilities when he came back. For she had believed that he would come back, even if the guilt trip that caused his return were temporary.
“Love covers over a multitude of wrongs,” she would tell Harry.
“Why cover over them when we should just get rid of them?” he would retort in his teenage years. Just get rid of him, he revised mentally.
But she didn’t give up, and pushed the three males of the family to go on a day trip, although Peter ended up getting sick at the last minute and couldn’t go.
“I don’t have to go if Peter can’t go,” Harry pleaded with his mother. “That’s just unfair to him – he was looking forward to it more than I was.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him. “He can go with you guys another time.” And he knew she was actually saying, plus, he’s already close to your father – you’re not.
He was sixteen when the trip took place. They packed fishing gear and drove for hours in silence.
The silence at first was uncomfortable – neither genuinely wanted to be there – but as telephone pole after telephone pole passed by, they fell into a lull, looking at the road ahead or the scenery passing them by.
They stopped at a roadside diner for lunch. He ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. His father ordered a reuben and a coffee – black, with sugar. They ate silently.
The coffee machine signaled the end of its round, and he poured himself a cup, stirring a spoonful of sugar in. He stared at the windows becoming brighter every minute.
“How are you doing in school?” his father had asked him after the long silence.
“Fine.”
“Getting good marks?”
“Yeah.”
They then continued to eat in silence.
Annette suggested they visit his father together, so they packed a snack and some of his father’s favorite books and made a trip to the hospital.
He was sleeping when they walked in. Harry watched his father’s chest rise and fall inconsistently, the faint fluttering of his eyes behind his eyelids, the jerk of his left foot every few minutes. Annette wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his temple, and they watched his father sleep together for a while.
He had never given his father credit for being his father – he always considered himself independent and the “real” head of the family. And now that his father finally seemed dependent on him, the feeling was strange.
“I’ve given it more thought,” he had told Annette the other day.
“What do you mean?” She was folding laundry.
“About…you know.”
Annette looked up at him, unyielding. “About?”
“Adoption.” The syllables faltered, but he knew it was something he had to say.
She dropped the shirt she was currently folding and stared at him. “And?” Her voice wobbled.
“It’s…not such a bad idea.” He sighed. “I don’t know how we would go about the process, but – ” He was cut off by his wife hugging him suddenly.
He felt hot tears wet his cheek and shoulder. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you.” She clasped his face and searched his eyes, perhaps for any hint of reconsideration or lying, and upon finding none, kissed him before saying “thank you” one more time.
The two smiled and finished folding laundry together, with a weight now off their chests. But Harry still did feel qualms he knew he would have to conquer everyday until the adoption took place. Or perhaps, even after.
His father slowly opened his eyes, piercing coughs overtaking him as he woke up. He gestured to the glass of water sitting on the bedside table, cringing and shaking his head with every cough. Annette quickly handed him the cup.
He drank hurriedly, body shaking and hacking out a few more coughs before breathing deeply and returning to silence. Annette attended to the water that had dribbled down the side of his mouth as he drank with a napkin, then set down the glass back on the table.
“You’re back again,” he said softly, not enough fiery energy behind his almost-accusation.
“Yes, I am,” Harry replied.
“Thought I told you that I didn’t need you here.”
“I wanted to come see you,” Annette interrupted.
“An unnecessary desire,” his father answered, closing his eyes again.
“Just to drop off some books and see how you were doing,” she persistently added.
He opened his eyes and glanced at the books she had placed on the table. “My eyes are too tired to read these days,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? I’m a dying man. Why read when it will all be forgotten soon?”
“She was just trying to brighten your day a bit,” Harry explained through gritted teeth.
“And a book is the answer to happiness? How trite.”
“You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “We’ll take them back.”
“Of course, you don’t ever think about doing anything for me, right?”
“That’s not what he meant, Saul. We can bring your favorite music next time – Sinatra, right?”
“Annette, don’t try so hard to gain my approval after all these years if you can’t even help continue the Mitchell line.”
Harry saw Annette’s face flush with embarrassment and sadness, the way it always did when he too lashed out at her, and he couldn’t take both his anger and guilt at the same time.
“Why are you so mean to her? What did she ever do to you that was so horrible that you have been terrible to her since day one?” he spat. Annette’s face paled as she tried to stop him from continuing. “If you don’t like me, then pour out your BS on me, not her. She doesn’t deserve any of this from you. None of us ever deserved any of this crap from you. Never. Not Mom, not Natalie, not Annette, not me.”
He watched his father close his eyes again slowly, as if trying to block out his words. “I know you’re listening, Dad. I’ve been keeping this all in because I know you’re in a fragile state, but I can’t sit back and let you put down my wife like that, the one wife that I’ve been faithful to after all these years. And you know what, she may not be able to continue the so-called Mitchell line, but the kid we raise is going to be much saner and happier than the kid we would have gotten through Mitchell blood.”
His father sat still. Harry was waiting for his retaliation, rage and disappointment and frustration and fear coursing through his body, but it never came. The whole room fell silent for a few minutes.
“Annette reminds me of your mother,” his father suddenly said. “And I didn’t deserve your mother, or her love.”
“You’re right,” Harry said.
“But you deserve Annette.” He coughed lightly. “And you deserve a child, just like you, so you can get hell from him.” He paused, giving Harry a half-smile – the first smile he had seen on his face in years. “And so you can redeem my fatherhood.”
Before their diner meal was over, Harry had asked, “Why did you come back?”
“We’re leaving in three minutes,” his father had answered. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we go.”
They caught no fish that day. And he never bothered to ask his father again.
“You know, Harry, when you were born, I had a lot of power. I was intelligent and skilled, renown for my work and my prestige. I was fit and handsome, finally married to a beautiful and loving woman, but after she had you, for some reason, I went into some sort of post-partum depression instead of her. I wasn’t ready to be a father after all, even though your mother and I were so happy during the period she was pregnant.” He looked out the window before continuing. “I stuck it out, thinking things could get better. To help, I drank and hung out with my colleagues, but I couldn’t handle being at home anymore, so I decided I needed to get out. I found the first cute nurse that would have me, which wasn’t hard, and got the hell out of there. I spent time with her and other gorgeous girls, consumed whatever alcohol and food suited my fancies, all while trying to make more money and earn more respect from my field.”
He went into a coughing fit, alarming both him and Annette. She handed him the water glass again, and waited for his coughing to die out.
“I should have been having the time of my life. And while I was living it, I did, I won’t lie. But when I found times of quiet by myself, or as I lay awake at night, I felt the same as I did before I ever left. Everything was meaningless – knowledge, money, power, company. So I came back.” Harry watched his father grow silent again, as if reliving his emotions from the past. “And then, I realized I had missed everything meaningful.” He laughed bitterly. “I watched myself become nothing to you – what did it matter what I meant to others, as a mentor or an inspiration, if I didn’t mean anything to my own son?”
Annette clasped Harry’s hand, and he felt his face get hot as his eyes became wet.
“Your mother was too good to me. And because I couldn’t forgive myself, even though she said she did and that even her God did, I ended up trying to run away more.” His father’s voice started to shake, the walls crumbling as he spoke. Harry couldn’t bear to watch and had to look up to avoid the awkwardness of seeing the image of his cruel and resilient father get emotional. “I’m nothing right now, Harry. I came into this world as nothing and I’m leaving as nothing. I’m not even a father to you or Natalie. And for someone who was always told that he was something, I can’t handle this. I’m dying and bitter and powerless and I’m back in the same place I was over 30 years ago. That’s my real sickness, not this cancer crap they’re throwing at me.”
Harry got up abruptly and walked quickly out of the room. As he stared at the white walls, he finally let go of the tears he had been holding for his father for the past 28 years.
A pair of yellow shoes stood in front of him. Then she bent down to clasp his face. “You okay?” she asked.
“It’s painful,” he admitted, “but refreshing.”
“That’s what forgiveness is, sweetie,” she whispered. “That’s what love is.”
“I guess.”
She handed him tissues, then kissed his forehead. “Wipe your nose. We’re all going to be okay now.”
He nodded, getting up. He looked into the room and for the first time, instead of an unfeeling authoritative character, saw his father for who he really was at the moment - old, small, insecure. Broken.
And things would have to change. Annette and he would have a child. He would suggest to his father to continue treatment at home. Maybe go on another fishing trip, him and his father and his child, be it son or daughter.
And watch the sun rise in the backyard, popping Cheerios in their mouths and feeling like men together again.
© 2009. Sarah R.
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1 comment:
It's great to realize, and to receive forgiveness and love when life is still burning...Beautifully written, Sarah.
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