Last Sunday was Father’s Day. That being said, I’m not late with this story, but rather, right on time. Because you don’t really know when the last Father’s Day will be. I know I didn’t.
This was my first without him, and even though words can’t describe the loss, it has made me realize something I never knew before. Father’s Day isn’t for fathers. It’s for the children.
Last Sunday was Father’s Day, and on that day Little One and Sweet Caroline, our two granddaughters, asked Yours Truly a very thought-provoking question. The question had me thinking of my dad, and after a long pause, I answered. As painful as it was, they deserved to know the truth about the situation so I pointed, “He’s down there.”
Now you may think that the title of this story, and that last line, aren’t good things to talk about on Father’s Day, but be assured. They were. In fact, it was perfect.
The loss of my dad has left a hole inside of me that can’t possibly be filled. How one gets over such a thing, forgets and moves on is beyond my capabilities to do or understand.
So instead of moving on and going forward, I’ve decided to remember and go backwards. Back to that old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo. Those seven years my three brothers, The Sister, and I spent growing up there were indeed magical. With a neighborhood full of kids with funny nicknames, we had countless adventures and misadventures. But this story isn’t about any of those, rather another adventure that lasted almost 60 years and couldn’t be written about until now.
A year ago last Sunday was Father’s Day, and I knew the great adventure of him being with us was coming to an end. That day found The Wife and me, along with Big Brother James, bedside in a hospital. How do you say goodbye to someone you’ve known all of your life, who taught you so much, and was always there? Dad was a big part of what made childhood at Flamingo Street so magical.
On the first Father’s Day that I remember, I gave Dad a crayon picture of us playing in the backyard. His gift was teaching me how to “Go around the mountain, and through the tunnel” to tie my shoes. If asked, he would’ve told you he kept that picture for years.
If asked, I will tell you I’d forgotten about that picture and that day until yesterday. That’s when I was showing Little One how to “Go around the mountain, and through the tunnel” to tie her shoes. She asked who’d taught me.
Fifty years ago last Sunday was Father’s Day, and Dad opened my present to him – a tie. Every Sunday he wore it to church with pride. That afternoon he started teaching me about gardening, growing the perfect tomatoes, and the importance of insects and bees.
Every creature in nature has a purpose and Nature itself is in a delicate balance. Not enough water tomato plants wither and die, too much and they drown or the tomatoes split and rot.
His gift to me is one I now share with the girls in our small backyard garden where we’re about to harvest the biggest tomatoes I’ve ever seen — except those that grew a long, long time ago in a backyard garden located on an old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo.
On that last Father’s Day, my present to Dad was telling stories from our childhood. Many of the adventures he knew nothing about because while we were out playing from sunup to sundown, he was out working. His gift, as he listened from his hospital bed, was one of surprise, delight and a comment I’ll always remember, “I never knew you kids did any of this — missed out on a lot of your childhood. Thanks for sharing your stories.”
I promised him I’d continue writing about our time spent on Flamingo — for all those kids who missed out on childhood adventures and all the fathers who also missed out.
Last Sunday was Father’s Day and the girl’s bathtub wouldn’t drain. They asked why. Pointing to a small plastic action figure, I replied, “He’s down there.” Then I remembered who first taught me about fixing plumbing and smiled.
Thanks, Dad, I will always remember and write about those magical seven years us kids spent growing up on that old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
