âDaddy, letâs play hockey.â
It was January in Cornwall, Ontarioâtoo far below freezing to play hockey outside.
âOkay, letâs get moving,â Daddy said.
âWhereâre we going to play?â we two boys chimed.
âHere in the kitchen, with a tennis ball.â
Nothing was too much work for my Father. He cleared the floor and we played hockey on the linoleum.
âDaddy, you play goal.â
He played goal, we hit him everywhere with that ball⊠no pads in those days. Iâll bet he was sore that night and black and blue everywhere.
In summer he played horsey, we rode him until he dropped. In fall the crimson leaves of the maple trees were piled high then, all three of us, jumped into them from the porch. He was one of us, until we stepped out of line, then he was a taskmaster. It had to be done correctly or we had to do it again. When we said, we didnât have time to do it correctly then, heâd ask, âIf you donât have time to do it correctly now, when will you have time to do it again?â
I never thought much about that statement until I heard my son say, âBut Daddy, I donât have time to do it right.â
âąâ¶Äąâ¶Äą
âPop, can I have the car tonight?â
ââMayâ I have the car⊠not âcanâ I have the car? Remember others judge you by the way you speak, so speak correctly. Now, again.â
âOhhhh, alright. May I have the car tonight Father, dear?â
âYes, but rememberâhome by midnight and put gas in the car on the way home.â
âYes, Pop.â
He always let me have the car whenever I asked and I received the same reminder each time. When I came down for breakfast in the morning he asked. âHow was the dance last night, son?â
âGreat, Dad, thanks for the car⊠yes, I was home by midnight.â
âI know, son. Did you put gas in the tank?â
âUh, no that would have made me late. Thought Iâd get it today.â
After breakfast, I went for gas and ran out on the way to the station.
No, I didnât get heck or a lecture, just, âMaybe next time youâll get it on the way home.â
âąâ¶Äąâ¶Äą
âFather, youâre looking better today. Howâre you feeling?â I asked.
Mother and I had taken Father into the hospital on Tuesday. He had a low-grade infection and was admitted for observation. During the week he had some spells. It was now Saturday and he was deteriorating.
âRemember, dad, the kidsâll be at our place for lunch tomorrowâthen home to London. Iâll see you in the evening.â
âA±ô°ùŸ±Č”łółÙ.â
He watched me head towards the door. I turned and looked back at him. His eyes were sad⊠a tear slid down his cheek.
I returned to his bedside, put my arms around him and said, for the first time in my life, âDad, I love you.â
This would be the last time Iâd have an opportunity to say, âI love youâ to my Father⊠he had a heart attack at two the next afternoon, went into a comma and was gone at four.
Never be afraid to say I love you.
William S. Peckham is a Âé¶čAV author and freelance columnist. If you have a comment or question about his stories or his novels you are invited to contact Bill at peck102mch@yahoo.ca
To report a typo, email:
newstips@kelownacapnews.com.
newstips@kelownacapnews.com
Like us on and follow us on .
