I entered Dad’s hospital room. He stared vacantly at me and seemed vulnerable, like a scared boy. His hair spiked in all directions and he lay crookedly, unable to straighten himself.
"Do you know who I am?" I asked.
"Yes ... Barbara," he whispered.
We both began to cry, the first I’d seen him cry in 30 years.
As a girl, I often found my dad parked in his recliner on Saturday afternoons. I’d walk through the family room.
"Whatcha watchin’?" I'd ask, feigning interest.
"Football." Obviously.
"Who's winning?" Like I cared.
I really only wanted a bit of my dad's weekend. A walk in the woods, a card game, an outing for ice cream. Only on occasion did those happen. I now realize he was exhausted after a long work week. But in my 10-year-old mind, Dad seemed interested only in football and I resented that.
On this Saturday, I scanned the sports page. The Arkansas Razorbacks, Dad's favorite team, was scheduled to play.
"Dad, guess who's playing this afternoon?"
"The hawgs?" he grinned weakly.
"Yep, let's watch!"
And so we sat, Dad reclined in a hospital bed and me close beside him, watching football. I cheered the plays and pretended to understand the strategies. His Razorbacks, the very thing I once resented, drew us together that afternoon.
I cried for time lost, but I marveled at the irony. Only a great God could tenderly mend my heart by building a bridge from the source of my resentment: football, to the father I love and long to know.
* This post is my entry for the Thin Places Win a Kindle essay contest. I only learned of the contest yesterday, and the deadline is this Friday, February 12 at midnight! Entries must contain exactly 259 words and the winner will receive a free Kindle reader. Any quick writers out there, go to the site and get writing!
2 comments:
I see a Kindle in your future. :-)
This is touching and full of redemption and forgiveness. Thanks for posting your story!
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