Father's Day

Does it seem forever ago that you were a child? It does for me. In fact, it really seems as if the ‘Child De’on’ is not related to me in any way. I wonder why that is.

I was telling Mom the other day a little about it. There are certain snapshots in my memory that are glued there. It’s as if my brain acted as a camera for that snapshot in time and it cannot be deleted.

Maybe it’s weird stuff. I don’t know. But the thing I was remembering to Mom was a neighbor in Odessa, TX (Mom told me the town) and it’s not the neighbor I remember at all, but it’s her dance studio. I remember sitting in that dark dance studio and I’m pretty sure Mom and the neighbor were there, but I don’t remember them. I remember the dark—it was very dark and blue, not black, but the picture in my mind is blue. I wasn’t in school yet, so I was five or younger.

Smells in my medicine chest, one in the back bathroom that I’m rarely in, remind me of MaMa’s bathroom. I loved her old bathroom. The sink had a faucet for cold and a faucet for hot. There in the closet, it was a medicine closet, not a chest, but in it was a delightful array of pills, ointments, suppositories and band aids. I loved to get MaMa to doctor me. Monkey blood (mercurochrome) was the absolute best. Sometimes she’d let me drink some of her and PaPa’s senna tea, but not often. The next morning was not worth it, but, oh, I can smell that senna steeping right now. MaMa spoiled us and she spoiled our dad before us.

As I said, I’ll be with Dad a lot more than I have been. I probably could use you guys’ prayers in this new change. It is something that I want to do for him, but I know it’s not going to be easy, though I do hope it will be something rather profound for the both of us.

When I volunteered to do this, and it is a regular job in which I’ll be paid, but when I volunteered to do this, I really didn’t see how Dad could make it much longer. I can’t count the number of Father’s Days I thought would be our last, but yet another one is about to dawn.

I really suck at being a nurse. That’s the only way to put it. I’ve never liked to be around the sick—complaining and whining make me insane. Around here, day one of illness, the patient gets canned Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, 7-Up, and whatever medicine seems to cover the most for the buck. I always have to go purchase these items; I never have them on hand. But I go buy them, administer them, pray the patient goes to sleep, and if I ever pick up what little bug they’ve had, I get it just bad enough to feel lousy, but since I’m not down and out and near death, I go ahead and make supper or whatever. I should say I used to. I’m pretty lazy all the time now.

By day two, the patient should have responded to all the extra attention the day before. If they have, life is good. If they refuse to be well or at least give great indication of their joy in life once again, I get mad. Really.

I suck.

And yet I’m about to embark on a daily dose of someone who really is sick and can’t get better. Maybe I spent too much time in MaMa’s bathroom, I don’t know. But the medicines and ointments have lost their appeal.

Although I feel as if the De’on that once waited at the corner for Daddy’s red Chevy to come down the street, stop at the corner so I could hop in and ride in the back home no further than two or three houses, although I feel as if she is someone I once knew or dreamt of, I know that she is me.

It’s been a long time. I don’t know how much longer I have with him. But I do want to do this for him, and for me.

Happy Father’s Day to all the wonderful men who love or have loved a child. The world needs strong men and strong fathers.

And for those of you who miss a dad today, I’m sorry. And I’m thankful for that strong father or person in your life that taught you how to love and live.

Semper Fi,
De’on