AGE 7 My DAD DIES We lived in Sherwood Forest. The name of our street Maid Marion. The next street over was Little John. Robin Hood the main road ran thru the center of the neighborhood. I was In the first grade at Sherwood elementary. Of course we were the Archers.
My family, dad who worked at Firestone. This was a plant where they made the tires, he was foreman. Then there was my mom. A homemaker. A person who takes a house and makes it into a Home. I had sisters Linda age 3 and Pat age 1.
It was a great life a happy life. I was your average seven year old into everything. Well average maybe not. The Jewel Tea truck would stop by from time to time and my mom would buy something. This trip she bought a feather duster just what we needed. When she went out side to hang out the wash, I struck a match and held it to the duster. It went up in flames in a flash, not knowing what to do I stuck it under sofa. My mom came in just as the sofa went up in flames. She grabbed the sofa and pulled it out the front door. I couldn't set down for days. My next event almost killed my two sisters. I was told over and over not to play with a ball in the house. Being told is one thing and doing it is another. My mom was next door which left the house as my play ground. I would toss the ball here there and everywhere. One my throws left the ball on top of the China cabinet. Only thing for me to do was to go to the top of the cabinet myself. I had the ball in my hand. The top of the cabinet began to move, within a second it came crashing down. My sisters where on the floor, the only thing that saved their lives was the dining room table. Both were under the table unhurt. Me I jumped to the side. My mother walks into a house she left clean and in good order, now is total terror. She screams and dives under the table to find my sisters, unhurt. But where was I, not to be found. She runs thru the house calling my name. She stops in the hall way. She knows where the only place I could be, the attic. I had pulled down the stairs and pulled them back up. She called my name and told me everything was going to be alright. This time when she got her hands on me hugs and kisses. I was ok. Liked I said your average seven year old.
My mom seemed happy at all times. She would be in the kitchen making something. She loved to sing, anything from Hank Williams to her version of The Old Rugged Cross. Fudge, yes fudge, which I love was being made today. It took forever. I could wait no longer. I ran out the back door past the Morning Glories to the back yard. Mom would call when the fudge was good to go. She was always there for my sisters and myself.
My dad was a quiet man. He let my mom carry out discipline when I was out of control, sometimes it seemed she enjoy it. One memory with my dad, Friday Night Fights. He would sip a beer, while I drank a Coke and ate popcorn. One Friday I remember we had. The family went out for dinner, our place for fine dinning Baretta's BBQ. I ordered a BBQ sandwich and a chocolate milk shake. My mom said the two don't go together. My dad said let the boy eat what he wants He was easy going. Never raised his voice,he left that to mom.
It's Saturday what a great day this is going to be. My dad and little me are headed to a place I would love to get lost in. It's a store, part Hardwear, part Feed store and toys but the best belongs to sporting goods. Today I start my baseball career. When we walked out of the front door, I had a bat and glove and the all important baseball. We headed home. My dad driving his Desoto, a 10,000 pound Battle Ship. The first thing we needed to do, build a baseball field. Dad with his push mower when I say push that's what I mean. When he passed by blades of grass would jump two feet in the air. He cut the infield grass, shorter. With rubber from Firestone he made bases. The field looked great. Within two hours me and my buddies had a game. After the game we cooked out hotdogs. What a great day.
Saturday was one of best days of my life Sunday was the worst day. From the daylight of Saturday to the daylight of Sunday, my dad died. He was gone at the age of 43. He died early Sunday morning from a cerebrum hemorrhage. How could this be!! Just yesterday he was full of life, having such a god time.
HOW DOES A SEVEN YEAR OLD BOY UNDERSTAND? His dad is gone. I will never hear his voice again. Have him walk thru the front and ask mom " Tell me what the boy did today." They told me your dad is in a better place, he's with Jesus, he's no longer in pain ( WHAT PAIN!) A few days later I was taken to the funeral to say good-bye to my dad. That's what I was told, it had to be done. I never said good-bye, what's good about it. Some lady sang songs. Songs my mom would sing in the kitchen while cooking. We sat in the front row, just a few away was the casket. I was made to walk up and look at him. It looked like my dad, if he was made of plastic. I brought my baseball with me. It felt like he was with me. I placed the ball in the coffin next to him.
We went back home. Everyone from the funeral, was there. A lot of people in a small space. No where to hide. Food, enough to feed everyone in Sherwood Forest. It covered ever space in the kitchen, piled high on the new dining room table. What is it, starve a cold, feed a fever. For misery, smother with fried chicken and banana pudding. I slipped out the front door and made my way to dads car. I crawled in behind the driver seat. I could still smell dads after shave. I cried and cried. This can't be real! I made my way to the backyard and set in the middle of our baseball field. I ran my hand thru the grass, trying to make the blades jump. I can still hear the unique sound the mower made.
That night the house was dark and quiet. It felt empty. From the living room I could hear my mom crying. She started to sing one of her church songs. She sounded sad. I walked to her, she hugged and kissed me. She asked me if wanted to sing? The only song I knew was from VBS. ' Jesus loves me this I know for the bible tells me so." She hugged me and said everything is going to be all right.
A month later we moved to San Francisco. More to come, age 8. Iam a man or a mouse?
