Father’s Patience

Sometimes it was lost.  When I was small and romping through childhood, father seemed to be a relatively mild person.  So, my brother and I came to rely on that calm, that parental placidity.  In essence, when around him, our brat quotient tended to elevate.  Father was patient, and we took advantage it.

But there was one time…how I wished I could remember what we had done!  It must have been extraordinary – all I remember is father rising from the table (our antics had apparently interrupted his dinner), saying “God DAMMIT” and…and essentially all memory is erased after that.  Perhaps nothing did happen after that – I do recall that we were running extremely fast.

Father has no patience with brats.

There was another time, but it had nothing to do with us.  Rather, it had to do with a circumstance our family found itself in.  We were driving home from the 1976 Olympics – someone thought it would be a whimsical idea to travel from Montreal to Los Angeles via car.

It was at night.  We were in Boston.  Suddenly a car stopped in front of us – and another stopped in back of us.  I am not sure if our car was approached – all I remember is father flinging the door open and charging outside.  I remember nothing else, as by that time I was hiding under the car seat.

Moments later, we continued to meander our way through an apparently bad part of a strange city.   Father has no patience with punks.

Many years later, I was having one of my many insect-related hysterics.  As – in this case – There Is A Bee In My Kitchen.  I think I even trapped it in my refrigerator.  I called home, of course, in a panic.  I cannot vouch for what sense I made – my guess is that it was precious little.  It could not be helped.  I believe I mentioned that there was A Bee In My Kitchen.

When I finally hung up, I had insisted repeatedly that I didn’t need any help – a blatant lie.

Minutes later, there was a knock at my door.  It was my father, brandishing a fly swatter like a pikestaff, ready to do battle.  I don’t recall the details of the ensuing fight, but I don’t doubt that a honey bee met its maker that evening.  It deserved to die.  It was IN MY KITCHEN.

Father has no patience with anything that makes me cry.

I love my impatient Father.

Happy Father’s Day.

Keeping Aubrey Safe

Keeping Aubrey Safe


12 responses to “Father’s Patience

  1. He slays ravening beasts for you! (Or at least, ravening bees.) What a great dad you have, Aubs!

  2. Look at that dress!

    You’re so lucky having such a capable Dad – I really missed that after my father had his stroke. I’m sure he did as well, not being able to do things for us. Although I must say it made me very capable myself.

  3. Every now and then, I miss my Dad all over again. This is one of those times. Such a wonderfully evocative piece. Good fathers are one of life’s treasures – I’m glad you had one.

  4. What a great dad! And he’s handsome, too! Hope he enjoys his Father’s Day with you and your brother.

  5. beautycalyptique

    a beautiful pearl necklace of memories.

  6. What a sweet, beautiful tribute… And I just adore that picture of you two.

  7. Handsome, smart, and brave!

  8. Thanks for making me smile. I loved this post. Brought back some memories of testing my father’s patience. In particular, my one and only spanking. No idea what I did, but we ended up on the tailgate of an old Studebaker station wagon, on the side of the freeway, with people going by honking. I was sure they were cheering dad on. He had big, callused hands. As I said, my one and only spanking. From then on, we talked.

  9. Thanks for a moving post. You’re a fortunate child to have a father so loving and caring.

  10. What a wonderful dad you have Aubrey; they can be hard to find. Love the photo!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s