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A child's journey |
| Written by Chris Martino | |
| Saturday, 22 December 2007 | |
Sitting down by the docks was something I often did as a child. Watching the sun sink into the trees on a warm summer night was nothing short of a miracle in my eyes. Many nights I would sit there waiting too see the small boat round the bend silently powered by my fathers sweat. After a long day at work, he often took refuge on the lake. My father was not a man of many words. Later on in life I would come to describe him not so much as one would normally describe another person, but rather in metaphor. He was like silent thunder... he had a velvet hand. I would sit there and wait for him because it was our special time when he would gently row up to the dock and motion for me to join him for one more lap into the lake. "The day is coming where I can sit back while you row me around this lake", my dad said. I gave a smile as my fingers played with the water off the side of the boat. I didn't think much of it at first. After all it was just some observation... just idle conversation. As the night wore on, though, i remember thinking more and more about what my dad had said. I began thinking about rowing my father through the lake. My thoughts led me to think about how I was getting older and my dad maybe was growing older as well. prier to that night, I never thought of my parents as old. I never considered that a day would come when they were no longer around. In retrospect, this was quite a profound experience. My eyes had been opened to a new prospect and by the time the next morning had rolled around, my life would never be the same. Many years had past since the last time I went around that lake with my dad. Walking down the winding path lined with trees that led to the lake was like a trip back in time. My years of life experience slowly and quietly slipped away with each step. The soft breeze rolling through the leaves meshed seamlessly with the sound of twigs mashing into the thatch beneath my feet creating a symphony of nature. I had to stop for a moment and close my eyes. The smell of honeysuckle was thick in the cool air and it took me back to my youth. Standing there with eyes lightly shut, I could hear echo's of my dad's voice along with the sound of the ore's slowly pushing through the water. H.G Wells had it all wrong with his tail of the time machine because nothing could have brought me back to this time and place more perfectly than what I was experiencing. Making my way back to the lake was something I always knew I would do with my father. We both had an unspoken fondness for the times we spent there. It was something that we shared alone. For this reason along with many others, this was something that I built up in my mind to be that of a sacred journey. My only wish was that I hadn't waited so long. I finally made my way through the path to the clearing that led to the small dock that sat on the edge of the lake. It was just as I had remembered it as I stood in awe of the sight ahead of me. Time had stood still in this place right down to the initials I carved into the aged waterlogged wood. I remember sitting in this spot as a child waiting for my father to round that bend as I carved the letters C.M into the plank with the Swiss army knife he had given to me. The time had come. All of my memories brewing in my mind and the thoughts of what my father had said to me. "One day you will be rowing me around this lake". The words were as clear as if they were just spoken. Intent on living up to my dad's wish, I pushed the old boat off of the bank, guided it to the side of the dock and slowly got in. It had been a while since I was last in a rowboat and it took a moment to regain my sea legs. It wasn't long before it all came back to me, though, and before I knew it, we were off. Once away from the dock, I knew exactly where to go. There was a certain spot out on the lake that dad seemed to gravitate to. Just past the bend, there was a large rock with a hook attached at the top. Just the top of the rock broke the surface of the water and you could row up to it and tie off. From that spot, the view is just awe inspiring. I made my way to the rock and tied us off. The water was like deep green glass and so cool to the touch. Ahead of me, the trees that lined this expanse blended with the sky which by now was turning bright pink as the sun sunk into the horizon. It was a sight that could make a poet cry. I had so much to say to my father. I wanted to tell him about my life. I wanted to tell him about my childhood and how big of an impact he had on me. I wanted to tell him all of the things that I never told him but most of all, I wanted to tell him just how much I loved him. I rested the ore's to the side, sat back and began: "...Ya know dad... life is funny. We never seem to say the things we want to say when we need to say them. I took you out here because of a promise I made when I was a kid. I want you to know that I never forgot about our time on this lake. I want you to know that of all of the influences in my life, yours has been the greatest and most profound. I want you to know that the man I am today is because of you". With a tear forming in the corner of my eye I continued... "I wanted to tell you that I'm not mad that you threw the fish I caught back into the water. I realize that you didn't do it to hurt me. I was a kid and didn't know better and I'm sorry that I made you feel bad. I want you to know that watching you try to catch another one for me even though you were so tired taught me what the love for your child must be like. I want you to know so many things but the one thing that is most important... the one thing that I need you to know more than anything... is that I love you. You are my hero, dad. I want you to know that everything I did for you I would do again. I love you, dad. I love you..." I took a deep breath as I sat there. The sound of the water kissing the side of the boat along with the birds singing in the trees helped me compose myself. I reached over to my father and opened the small container which held a small amount of his ashes. Gently and lovingly, I returned a small amount of him to this place he loved so much. I don't remember how long I sat out there. I just remember the ride back seemed so lonely. It wasn't until after I had reached the dock and made my way back up through the path that a weight seemed to have been lifted. It was a good feeling. Not only did I live up to my dad's idea of me rowing him around the lake, I also got to tell him the things I needed him to know for so long. I told him I loved him... and he heard me... and I know he loves me too. Chris Martino Copyright 2007 Chris |
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