Gutless Father

 

Sometimes I'm quiet when others reminisce about their childhood. Not that I think my childhood was any more or less dysfunctional than the usual, but then again, I am so used to keeping my skeletons or rather my mother's skeleton in the closet.

 

I would like to explain about my gutless father but as Freud would agree, when unearthing skeletons you must always start with the mother.

My mother was what we would now deem old school, a perfumed domestic goddess, whose life seemed to revolve around that time, 6:00pm when the father came home from work. From the minute he left every morning, until he came home, she would flit around the house, in a cloud of Windex, Lawry's and lipstick, attempting to please this man who like most men in his day took this devotion for granted.

In fact, I can still see with 10 year old eyes the night that father failed to walk through the door without some much needed support.

It was a Tuesday, Mother had concocted a beautiful dinner of roast chicken with herb, mashed potatoes and green salad. Mother, my brother Denny and I sat around the table around 5:30 under Mothers watchful eye, not allowed to even think of a taste until father came home to say grace.

6:00pm rolled around, then 7:00, then 11pm. While mother stood up to pace muttering frantically, our doorbell rang with the sound of a thousand possibilities. Even at my age, I knew none of them were good.

We went to the door and I can still envision the state trooper's black, mud encrusted boots and stuttering, shaky voice as he explained my father absence. I caught the words accident, lake, and "I am so sorry". That was all I heard before Mother high pitched wail drowned out every other memory that I have of that night.

We stayed at Grandma's for the week that mom was sent to the magical land of Adivan and Soma.

After a week, we were dropped back off at home because as Grandma explained regretfully, she did pre- pay for the Orlando trip with the girls and the ticket was un-refundable. You understand right?

Denny and I walked into an unrecognizable house that stank with the unwashed smell of depression and loss. Mother was in bed under the covers, asleep, large bottles of wine littered her bedroom floor as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep.

For two weeks after Mother stayed in that room.

She spent her days drinking and mumbling in a stupor only waking up sobbing uncontrollably.

I took charge of poor Denny, I made dinner the best I could, of crackers and butter, bread and mustard sandwiches…anything I could find.

In fact, it was the end of that second week when I had served Denny the last of the cupboard, an old can of clam chowder that we had saved until last because kids don't usually want anything with the word clam in it, when mother popped her head in the kitchen scaring me half to death, "I am off to bring papa home" she said and left out the door, with tires squealing in the driveway.

 

Denny looked at me, what does that mean? he asked. I don't know, maybe she is going to meet another man I said.

After a dinner that we only looked at and poured down the disposal, I sang Denny a song and we went to sleep in my bed.

We woke up to something amazing!

The tantalizing smell of pancakes and bacon wafting up the stairs.

Hooray! I yelled and grabbed Denny's hand dragging him down the stairs.

At the table we found Mother smiling, coiffed, perfumed, wearing an apron and setting the table for 4.

At the very end of the table seated in front of large stack of pancakes was fathers skeleton.

 

Darling's! Fathers come home! My mother chirped with the wattage of a million suns.

 

Denny promptly fainted.

 

Although it was very hard on us kids at first to get used to our dead father at the table for every meal.

We soon realized that a happy contented mother really makes the world go round.

Mother passed away a few years ago, and although I have been keeping father in the broom closet mostly for the last five years, I do understand the importance of grandparents in a child's life. With the help of some electrical tape and string, Grandpa tells the kids the funniest story's .

 

I have also learned the valuable lesson that a gutless father is infinitely better than no father at all….

Reviews

[Wildecat]

This is an amazing story, can relate myslef to this one, but as you said a gutless father is better than no father at all. Me I got lucky and got a super Step dad. Anyway Nice Write.