My father and I were sitting on a park bench in quiet comfort while the girls played on the equipment with its twisted and bent primary colored pipes, the slides, and hidden nooks. Their screams and giggles with other children from the neighborhood echoed in the early spring day. The breeze blew just enough so black flies were kept at bay but not enough to require more than a light jacket. Perfect.
Mellissa was running with a little boy her age around the outside of the playground, and I knew I should have told her to slow down and be careful, but I am a dad. We don’t do things like that. That’s a mom’s job, and I refuse to be that kind of father. Darwin’s theory is part of my parenting mission statement. Then I saw Emily being teased by a boy. She did the little girl snub, which only motivated him to tease again until she smiled sweetly and pushed him down. That’s my girl.
As I waited for an irate mother to come over and tell me my child was a bully, I turned to Dad. “I don’t think I can handle my girls dating.” I leaned back and put both arms on the back of the bench we sat on. “Every time I think of it, I want to break every male child in half who looks at them.”
My father snorted. “Do you remember your sister’s first real boyfriend?”
“The guy with the blue Chevrolet C10 truck, running boards in the back?”
“Yup, it had a 350 GM engine. It was the only thing good about that long-haired hippy.” My father’s arms were folded, his hands tucked under his armpits—classic story position. “Anyway, your mother refused to let me tell Di what I thought of her ‘man.’” He leaned towards me. “He was too old for her.”
“How did you control yourself?”
“I traveled a lot then and had a lot of time to cool off in hotel rooms; your mother talked me down a few times. I came home early one night when a sale went south. When I got home . . .”
. . . Gregory thought nothing looked better than his home with a sunset behind it making the house look warm and welcoming. The knowledge his wife and children were inside made this June evening seem all the more special. Then he noticed the truck. It was a thing of beauty, but the dirtbag who drove it, who was at this moment kissing his daughter, was not. The shine of appreciation of the pickup dulled. If he had been rational, he would have admitted to himself that his prejudice towards the kid was because of who he was dating, not because of his character.
Gregory got out of his car, circled around, and settled against the rear fender on the driver’s side to wait, one foot on the running board. He had his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie loosened, and sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, all the while playing with a business card. He patiently waited.
The streetlights were coming on by the time the target came out with a shit-eating grin on his face. He was too wrapped up in his own head to see Gregory against the truck until he started to open the door. The look of shock and then fear on his face made Gregory’s wait worthwhile. “Son,” the over-protective father greeted him.
“Sir” was squeaked out.
“You’re the man dating my daughter?”
“I’m dating Diane.” The young man spoke hoping that this was a form of mistaken identity or maybe a robbery.
“That is my daughter.” The boy was almost as tall as him, but he knew intimidation didn’t come with size but with attitude, a little suppressed anger, a few carefully chosen words.
The boy obviously chose to man up and said, “Oh. Hi. I’m John Williams. It’s nice to meet you.” He held out his hand.
Gregory just looked at the hand and back up to him; the dimming light cast shadows on his hard face. He looked down at his business card in his hands, the movement crisp with suppressed anger. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”
The boy’s hand fell along with his smile. “We’re just dating.”
Diane’s father scanned the young man’s face: his scraggly attempt at a mustache, hair, which hung below his ears, draped down like a scarf on his head. Again, silence hung between them.
“I would never hurt your daughter.”
“What do you do when you aren’t with my daughter?”
“Excuse me?”
“You go to school? Hold a job?” Gregory looked out at the street and back at the boy. “Well?” he asked with an arched brow.
“I work at my uncle’s garage.” Not a squeak or stutter but a slight shake of his right hand gave away his agitation.
“School?”
“No, sir.”
“Why? —he looked away—You think being a grease monkey will make enough money to support her? —then back at the boy—or a family?”
“She’s only seventeen.”
“Exactly, and you are?”
“Twenty.”
He realized the boy was the same age he had been after his first tour ‘in country.’ He wasn’t sure which annoyed him more: remembering the war or realizing what he had been doing at that age.
“You and I both know a young man’s drive and a teenage girl’s romantic thoughts can mean trouble.” He let a pause hang between them for a beat or two then continued, “How do you think I would feel about that kind of trouble?” The boyfriend remained silent. “How would you feel if your seventeen-year-old sister dated a twenty-year-old man”—another moment of silence— “and had your kind of thoughts.” There was nothing but silence between them for a long minute, then Gregory sighed and pushed away with his foot on the running board. “Good talk.” He slapped the pale young man’s shoulder and took his lack of response as understanding. “Next time you come over and I am here, I’ll show you some NVA guns I brought home from in country. . ..”
. . . “He dated her for about another week before they broke it off.” I laughed and, my dad smiled at me. Before I could comment, we were interrupted by an angry woman, her long hair softly flowing around her face, her clothes a modest dress that looked more like a flowered shower curtain, and her shoes practical. She was a perfect vision of a domestic dominatrix. The scowling bitch face she was trying to hold back was priceless.
“Did you see what your daughter did?”
“You mean stand up for herself?” I asked calmly.
“She pushed my son!” The bitch face was out in full view now.
“I saw her being teased by a little boy, and when he wouldn’t stop, she pushed him.”
“She shouldn’t push no matter what; my son would never tease,” The blind momma bear said.
I felt it was my job to help her see the light and pointed to the playground. “Like he is now?”
She turned and looked as her son called a little red-headed girl a ‘fire engine poopy head,’ She looked at her son and flushed. “Well, she shouldn’t push no matter what.”
“I think there are times a small push says more than words ever can. Besides, a child has to learn how to deal with bullies.” I thought of a boss I had at one of my summer jobs. “They never go away. They just have more money, or power, or both.”
She stormed off while bellowing for her son.
A short time later, Alison walked over from the parking lot, the sun silhouetting her. As she walked closer, the wind pushed her oversized shirt snuggly to her body, showing off her baby bump. After a quick greeting and the exchange of keys, she called to our daughters and scurried them off for haircuts and a girls’ lunch.
As I watched them leave, I asked my dad, “did you ever regret marrying so late in life?”
“I was in love once or thought I was.”
“Really? What was she like?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Her name was Lilly Pad.” He looked at me and smiled. “Her real name was Susan Billings, but she hated it and made everyone call her Lilly.” He chuffed. “Wanted to name her children after herbs: sage, rosemary, thyme, and so on.”
“I thought Emmerson was bad.”
“She was fun, flexible, and adventurous.” He smiled. “I was in love.” He grinned slowly as he raised his eyebrows, “until she came home with another man asking for a threesome.”
My father laughed at the expression on my face.
“She learned that day I did not share. We ended soon after that.” I helped him to his feet, and we walked back to the car. “I’m glad I waited.”
He didn’t finish until we were settled back into the car and pulling away.
“You never get tired of looking at a sunset; you never lose an appreciation for its beauty any time you view one,” he said, “Your mother was like that. So, no I never regretted marrying late in life.” He sighed, “She was a blessing.”
