A Walk in The Park

Robert W. Fogle                                                  approx. words: 1,566

115 Hemlock Hill Road

Boone, North Carolina

(828) 264-5714 (H-first call)

(828) 268-2389 (cell)

b.fogle@yahoo.com

A WALK IN THE PARK

*Based on the prompt: Your main character is approached by their long-estranged parent who wants to reconnect. How do they react?

By

Bob Fogle 

He walked out, I was told stumbled out on a cold rainy evening, thirty-three years ago, as I lay face down on the dining room floor unconscious. Oh, and I was six years old.

           According to my then fifteen-year-old drunken brother, Melvin, he watched the incident from the kitchen walk-through, and the ‘old man’ was drunk. That wasn’t anything unusual, he would come home from work with a beer in his hand. He always sat down to dinner with the one he was working on plus an unopened one, this so he didn’t have to get up during the meal. The  evening I’m referring to he was upset over losing a promotion at work, and several beers ahead of his normal count.

           “Lar, you spawn of Satan, get me a Tall-Boy!” I was standing beside the table with my back to him. Not sure what he asked I turned just as he let loose with a

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roundhouse right that met my left jaw. Melvin said it was a punch worthy of someone sober, I‘d gone sprawling, out cold. The old man started mumbling something unintelligible just before Mom told him to shut up. Melvin said, he proceeded to laugh as he started describing his punch, and that’s when Mom picked up a ceramic bowl with biscuits whacking him across the face.

           He wasn’t out as long as me, and when he awoke is clothes were stuffed in several paper bags sitting inside the back door.

           I awoke sometime later with a pounding headache, several very loose teeth, and just in time to hear Mom order brother Melvin from the house permanently. He was as bad a boozer as the old man, seemed to do all he could to imitate Dad, including robbing Mom’s pay money from her purse.

           There were times when I looked at Mom and asked myself why she kept any money in her purse, why she left valuables where the two drunks would look. Some years later, sitting in on a Psychology lecture class I learned of the characteristics of the person who my Mother was.  

           Two anguishing days after she kicked both her husband and her son out, she settled down. Mom was confident she made the only choice left to her and opened the phone book to look for an attorney that would handle a divorce. From the moment Dad and Melvin were ordered out neither were heard from again.

           I reckon I became somewhat nostalgic every time I remembered when I was a young kid and Dad would say, “A walk in the park, Lar?” I’d always stop whatever I

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was doing, grab his hand and we’d go for a walk in the park located at the end of the block. As we walked, he would translate the latest Mom and Pop troubles into kid’s language. Carefully, he’d explain what was on his mind, and we’d walk the loop trail  back to the house. After those talks everything seemed alright.

           Thirty-years have now passed with no contact what-so-ever from Dad or brother Melvin. Mel’s no problem since he died in a fall from his tenth-floor apartment. The police believe further evidence of suicide was the fact his blood alcohol level was triple the legal limit, and that he bungeed fourteen, 16-ounce Bud’s around his waist.

           I seemed to have avoided any overt childhood traits from the mental and physical abuse. Rather than withdrawing to my bedroom or a dark corner where the old man’s could have sent me, I’ve become a cop. “Thank you very much, Dad.”

           Accustomed to a worthwhile productive life, one dark fall afternoon I was exposed to a man awaiting my arrival at work in the front jail entrance area. As I walked in an elderly gentleman, a bit on the heavy side, bald, yet well dressed and articulate stepped forward and said, “Sgt, Wall, do you remember me?”

           I looked into a pale face with what I’d guess was a major knife scar running from the corner of his left eye, down his cheek, and under his chin. His expression looked hopeful I’d remember him, but all I saw was sadness in his eyes.

           “No sir, I don’t.” As a cop I’m always on guard for someone trying to pull a scam or worse, yet there was something familiar about him. It wasn’t in his appearance, but in the way he moved and used his hands to talk.

           “You’ve made a fine law man Lar,” and he smiled apparently having a good time fooling me.

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           I immediately grabbed his left hand and looked at the amputated little finger and knew. “Only one person that  has ever called me ‘Lar’ and thankfully he’s no longer a part of my life. Unfortunately, you’ve left no doubt in my mind with that missing digit”.   

 What if he does return one day, every miserable habit, all his hostility and self-loathing gone, disappeared just as if it had never been.”

           “No, no, no! Go away before I hurt you, then I’ll be in trouble. A lot of nerve you have walking up to me when I’m armed, do you have a death wish old man? You were ordered by the court to not make contact, hell, you probably aren’t even aware you gave me a concussion the day you left.”

           “Son, I’m not about to ask you and your mother for forgiveness; I have no right to accept an offer of forgiveness, if ever offered. I did things that will never deserve forgiveness and forget.

           “So, the bottom line here apparently is, you want absolution so you can die with the comfort of having a loving family by your side. That’s it, you’re dying and trying to make things right. I’m betting you’ve convinced yourself to conveniently overlook thirty some years of absence. Remember, you were absent when discipline was needed, when questions were asked, and when nothing would compare with a father’s companionship.   

           “I’ve watched Mom grow old never finding a relationship to replace you when you’ll were young and in love. There’s the door old man, don’t say a word, just walk out and keep going. You best not attempt to contact her or show up somewhere she might recognize you. Go!                   

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           Dad was exhausted in my near mania. It had been over thirty-years since that day. Today I saw a man foreordained by his own actions to die unattended by his family.

           As I watched, he limped on is left leg, the side the prominent scar is on his face. More than that it struck me, the man had no coat on, no cap, no groves. I felt guilt, I was of his flesh and blood. I know Mom would give most anything to see him, to touch his arm and know he’s alive. I took the hate that rose up inside me and beat him down with it.

           Watching this old man, limp down the sidewalk in the cold with no coat, I felt shame. That badge on my chest doesn’t authorize me to punish. I missed my Dad, for thirty-years didn’t know where he was, he may of been dead for all I knew. Now that I’ve denied him the love of forgiveness I was reminded of those walks in the park.

           What if he does return one day, every miserable habit, all his hostility and self-loathing gone, disappeared just as if it had never been.”

           “No, no, no! Go away before I hurt you, then I’ll be in trouble. A lot of nerve you have walking up to me when I’m armed, do you have a death wish old man? You were ordered by the court to not make contact, hell, you probably aren’t even aware you gave me a concussion the day you left.”

           “Son, I’m not about to ask you and your mother for forgiveness; I have no right to accept an offer of forgiveness, if ever offered. I did things that will never deserve forgiveness and forget.

           “So, the bottom line here apparently is, you want absolution so you can die with the comfort of having a loving family by your side. That’s it, you’re dying and trying to make things right. I’m betting you’ve convinced yourself to conveniently overlook thirty some years of absence. Remember, you were absent when discipline was needed, when questions were asked, and when nothing would compare with a father’s companionship.   

           “I’ve watched Mom grow old never finding a relationship to replace you when you’ll were young and in love. There’s the door old man, don’t say a word, just walk out and keep going. You best not attempt to contact her or show up somewhere she might recognize you. Go!                   

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           Dad was exhausted in my near mania. It had been over thirty-years since that day. Today I saw a man foreordained by his own actions to die unattended by his family.

           As I watched, he limped on is left leg, the side the prominent scar is on his face. More than that it struck me, the man had no coat on, no cap, no groves. I felt guilt, I was of his flesh and blood. I know Mom would give most anything to see him, to touch his arm and know he’s alive. I took the hate that rose up inside me and beat him down with it.

           Watching this old man, limp down the sidewalk in the cold with no coat, I felt shame. That badge on my chest doesn’t authorize me to punish. I missed my Dad, for thirty-years didn’t know where he was, he may of been dead for all I knew. Now that I’ve denied him the love of forgiveness I was reminded of those walks in the park.

           That’s precisely where I found him, in shirt sleeves, sitting on a park bench with his head down, eyes closed, and trembling in the cold.