It was Sunday evening and Mom, Dad, Lisa and I were having our usual dinner of pot roast, baked potatoes, peas and Grammy McIntyre “buns.” Pepperidge Farm fruit tarts, probably raspberry, were warm and ready for that scoop of maple walnut ice cream; one of our favorite desserts. At the age of 17, I was quite convinced that I was far wiser than most; including my parents. I do not recall the specific issue that hovered over the dinner table that evening but I do know that I was voicing my opinion in an aggressive and disrespectful manner and my father had heard just about enough.
“Let it go, Belinda. Let it go.” At this point, I had talked myself right into a frenzy and rather than count my losses and finish the meal quietly, I pushed on. My father’s gentle spirit was being challenged. Without warning, he placed his silverware down and struck the table with his right hand. Dishes and glassware teetered, my mother dropped her fork, and Lisa started to cry. “Let it go, I said.” My father’s eyes exploded with tears. I got up and walked from the room, my heart pushing against my chest. I had never seen my Dad so angry and I felt instant shame and regret. The remainder of the night was stained with tension and those abandoned raspberry tarts lost their golden luster.
The following days went by with little conversation, other than a polite “excuse me” or “thank you.” Our evening meals seemed stale and tasteless; flavored with wounded egos and dented hearts. I wrote long, apologetic letters to my father that he never received. I composed daughter/father poems and sonnets that he would never hear. Of course, my Dad had disciplined me as a child but I was caught somewhere between “little girl” and young adult and despite all of my self-declared wisdom, I did not know how to mend that tattered veil that hung between us; until I found the watch.
Actually, Mom found the watch. We had been shopping at Zayre’s in Presque Isle and headed toward the checkout when she spotted it. It was a silver plated Timex with an expansion band and a plain white face. “Daddy needs a new watch,” she said. “He broke his old one just this week.”
“Should I get him this one?” I asked. Father’s Day was just around the corner and this would be a perfect gift.
My mother, usually quite opinionated, had chosen to remain neutral. “I think you should get it and I wouldn’t wait until Father’s Day to give it to him. How about giving it to him as an “I love you” gift?” she asked. (My family is famous for “I love you” gifts.) I purchased the watch and brought it with me to the dinner table that night and just before we started to eat, I slid the watch toward him. “Is this for me?” he asked. I nodded my head. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry.”
When our meal was finished, I wandered out to the backyard, where Dad and I loved to play horseshoes. I heard the screen door shut and my father stood before me in his blue Dickie work suit, visibly tired from the day. “How about a game?” he asked. He brought his freckled left arm forward and tapped lightly on the face of his new watch. “It’s getting late! Go get the horseshoes and let’s get this show on the road.”
He didn’t have to ask me twice! We played that night; long after the back porch light surrendered itself to shimmering stars in a flawless, ebony sky.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
