What Would I Change? Let’s see…

There was this afternoon sometime in June, I believe.

The curtain had just been drawn on the day,

It was the end of an act.

My father walked into the darkening living room.

My sister and I sprawled on our respective chairs and couches.

We hadn’t done much that day.

We drank and ate and slept.

We hadn’t done much that day.

My dad pulled up a chair, attempting to disrupt our routine.

Reluctantly, we pealed ourselves off of the couch and leaned in close.

He had a story to tell us, he is sentimental like that.

When you least expect it and perhaps wish it away, he is sentimental like that.

Today, I am happy we leaned in close that day because

It reminded me of what I wish to be.

Softly, he began to read the words; so softly we had to lean in closer.

It was recalling a meeting between two people, two human beings.

Mark and Hellen-- Twain and Keller.

It was a first meeting, a first impression.

The impression was grand on both their souls, both of their hearts.

It was a human moment in its simplest form, two people exchanging their stories, exchanging their lives.

He wasn’t a line down the page before his voice cracked and a word broke and fell to the floor like mom’s favorite lamp.

He tried again like an old engine turning over but to no avail.

He slid the book onto my lap.

I didn’t feel like reading but I did anyway.

I pealed the words off the page, forced them almost.

I should have started softly, like my dad.

This moment deserved, softly, he knew that.

I read on until the story’s finish.

I read on until the two beings traveled a forked road.

I read on until my father’s heart was full.

How wonderful, how human,

For a man to be so wonderful, so human.

For him, for that, I wouldn’t change a thing.