Remembering Dad
The Picture
I have a picture of Dad and me that I love. I'm about three years old. It is fall and we're standing in front of a large oak tree. The tree is mostly bare but a few red and gold leaves remain on the branches. The ground is strewn with leaves and it almost looks as though we're standing in a sea of fire. He's young. Younger than I am now; holding me on his broad shoulders and he's smiling. I'm holding on for dear life with my arms wrapped around his forehead. I'm squealing in delight and obviously overjoyed at being so high above the ground. It shows me that for a moment in time the world was Dad, me, and an old oak tree - and we were as happy as two peas in a pod.
I look at the picture through the eyes of a toddler. I try to reconstruct the moments before and after someone, probably Mom, snapped the picture. I imagine him lifting me up. I'm so small I couldn't have been that heavy. He must have been running around the tree. He looks hot and slightly winded. Maybe he was my horse and I was a cowboy chasing outlaws. His hair is tussled. I probably did that. Hair makes great reigns. The moment was magical enough it made Mom or whoever took it take the time to grab the camera. They were still quite bulky back in the day.
Dad was a soldier and I was always so proud of him. He missed countless holidays, and birthdays. His job was exhausting when he was home. He would spend weeks in the field, which I always imagined was like camping. As he got older soldiering took a greater toll-physically, mentally, and emotionally. He had to get up before the sun was up for physical training. There were some days where I didn't see him at all. He often had to work late and on weekends. He was the First Sergeant and anytime a soldier was in trouble he had to help or discipline them. On his worst days he would come home and go straight to bed without dinner. He did a whole year in Korea.
I followed Dad into the military. I wanted to be just like him, and for awhile I was. I too found a beautiful wife and had a daughter and two sons. I missed holidays and birthdays. On deployments I worked extra hard in an attempt to forget how miserable I was and how much I missed them. I remember the highlight of a deployment being a letter at mail call and a phone call home when in port. I rebelled by joining the Navy. The tiny voices on the other end would ask when I was coming home and became confused by the answer because they couldn't understand the concept of months or weeks. On return from my last deployment my youngest son, he was three at the time, ran out onto the tarmac and hugged my leg. My older son hid behind his Mom and wouldn't look at me. It was a week before he would speak to me. I had become a stranger.
That was the day I decided to leave a full time military career. I discovered the picture in an old shoe box in the attic not long after while packing for the cross country move to our next station. I reflect on my experiences as a father. I was torn by guilt between abandoning my family or abandoning my country and comrades. He had had to have gone through the same conflict.
I then saw the picture through his eyes. He had recently returned from the field or maybe had just gotten home from work. He had gotten up early that morning. Maybe he stood in the doorway in uniform and watched me sleep. His thoughts were on me as he fixed a truck or cleaned a weapon. Anticipation filled him as the day drew on. He rushed home, eager for the tight squeeze around his thigh and an excited greeting of "Daddy!" He quickly changed out of uniform and put on a comfortable pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, but kept his army t-shirt underneath. He took me out to play in the backyard. We chase each other around the tree until he hoists me up. Mom looks up from washing the dishes. I'm atop his shoulders pulling his hair and he's running around in circles. The scene melts her heart and she gets the camera and joins us outside. She snaps the picture but can't stay because my baby brother is asleep inside. And so a testament of a father's love becomes a memento for the son.
Each Father's Day I take down the album that I put the picture in. It has joined pictures of me with my children. We have since added a third son for a total of four children in all. Surrounding the picture of Dad and me is a picture of me with each of them. I didn't recreate the original, but I made it a point that in each it is just them and me without Mom or siblings. Someday each of them will get their picture for their album when they are grown and have a family. They can look it and remember us just I remember Dad and me; young, playful, and most of all-happy as two peas in a pod.
