Toss a Ball

“Hey son!” my father called out to me.

I turned to him, expecting to be told to do a chore for him.

“Did you want to go out and throw the football?” he asked.

I stood there in stunned silence. I had just turned fourteen years old, and he has never asked me to do anything fun until that day.

“I’m going over to my friend’s house,” I finally told him.

“Oh,” he said with a moment of a dejected look. “Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

I left that day, not knowing the opportunity to do something fun with my father would never arise again. He never asked me again, and I did not have the guts to ask him. That day, there was a moment that he reached out to me, but I shunned him.

“How many times have I thought of that day?” I thought. “If I would have told him, I would be glad to throw the football. Would our relationship have been better afterwards? Would there have been more days of having fun activities with him?”

I will never know, for the opportunity has gone by.

Most days I reminisce of that moment with regret, but today the tears form and splash on the pictures of old that have become a blur now. My father died a week ago. There is not another chance to throw the football at my father. Oh, how my heart aches.

My father was a drill sergeant in the Army for countless years. I believe he said one time it was twenty-eight years. I could be wrong since he spoke to my mother most of the time, so I ignored him on most occasions.

Frequently, my dad brought his attitude home, so they barked me at all the time. Clean my room, rake the yard, brush my teeth, put on better clothing, comb my hair properly, and on and on. There were brief words of encouragement and the only time I heard the word “love” was when my dad greeted my mom when coming home from work. I did not direct it to me until later in life, and more than ever in his last weeks. Hugs were practically non-existent even between mom and dad. Only when forced by others who believed in hugs.

Most of the time I kept my friends from coming over, so my dad didn’t say something to them to embarrass them and me. There were times he had to stay on the base, which was a perfect opportunity to welcome friends and spend the night.

“Does he yell at you a lot?” many of my friends would ask.

“He doesn’t yell much at me,” I replied. “It is more like commands. And by seeing his expression, you did it on the double or face the consequences.”

“Did he give you spankings?”

“No, because I did what he told me to do. If I did that, all is well.”

“You must fear your dad?”

I was in my first years of life. As I entered my teens and into adulthood, it didn’t faze me as much. Plus, there were fewer commands as I did my chores before he came to tell me.

The day came that I left the nest and got my first apartment. My father checked it out and wasn’t pleased with it, but my mom calmed him down.

“It’s not like he has tons of money to find a fancy place,” I heard my mother say.

It frustrated me with him, but I would realize further down the road that was his way of showing his love and caring about the situations I got myself into.

The years ticked by as I watched my father retire and saw how he became more relaxed. There were times I thought about asking if he would like to toss a ball but found out quick the main reason, he retired is he had medical conditions where he couldn’t get around easily. Later in life, he would be in a wheelchair, which was tough on him since he never wanted to be a cripple. It was tough to watch him try to get around by foot before he finally resigned himself to the chair. He always wanted to look tough but shrunk in so many ways when he was in the chair.

For myself, I finally met my love, and not long after that, our firstborn. A couple of years later, we had another one.

By becoming a husband and then a father, I told myself frequently I would differ from my father. As my children got a little older, I succeeded in such as I played ball with them. But as I did, I thought of the day I played with my dad. A special day that I lost a chance to grow much closer to him. Was there a possibility we would have tossed the ball then gone our separate ways? Maybe. But I believe it was an opportunity that was missed, and I will forever have a memory that has put a scar on my heart. It is a painful memory that I have set forth to rectify with my children. I have succeeded in areas but have failed in others. There is my father in me, so to say, “I love you” or just a hug is a learning experience. I strived to better myself, but there are always obstacles on the road.

With my father gone, there is no more opportunity to enjoy a good toss with him. A big mistake in my life that haunts me every so often. It’s like a minor demon on your shoulder that continues to whisper that painful memory into my ear. But life goes on and you live in the present and beyond. I must leave it as a memory and move on with my life, having learned to grasp every bit of life that you can or regret it later down the road if you let the opportunity pass you by.

I can hear the kids coming home from school. I look out the window and see it’s a beautiful day. A good day to toss the ball.