As a writer, I have read many stories about the warm relationships between father’s and daughter’s.  My relationship with my Father was never like that.  First of all, I was born during a war. My Father was in the Navy in some far away ocean waters fighting the enemy when my mother delivered me. 

He suffered serious injuries that kept him on the other side of the world and country for 3-years. In the meantime, my older brother and I spent our time in a family operating with only females, which consisted of my Mother, Grandmother and Aunt.  There were many other families in our neighborhood just like mine with men away fighting a war. 

 In my memory, I can still hear my Mother’s voice reading a letter to us where the notice of my Father was now coming home as his time in service of our country, and the injuries he endured had healed enough for him to travel safely home to his family. 

 Upon hearing our Mother’s words, my brother, who had 8 years with his Father before the war, jumped up from the table and ran into the living room.  In a few moments, he came back to the dining room and gave my Mother a hug.  At 3-yers of age, I sat on my Aunt Myrtle’s lap and hugged my Raggy Anne doll, not really understanding what all the joy was about.  At this point in my life, I had never met my Father.

 

The relationship we had upon his returned was one of respect with a bit of fear for this stranger whose personality was one of quietness, rarely saying anything to me directly it seemed.

As I grew up, my Father worked for the Post Office with long hours.  I never remember him saying such small things such as, “Good Morning,” and at my bedtime, he never tucked me into  my bed at night or even gave me a hug or a kiss.  A nod of his head seemed okay with me and him.

He was a good man, but he was still a stranger to me in so many ways.  His work hours prevented him from coming to watch me play kickball or basketball at school, and his evening shift of work kept him from my grade school graduation.  To this point, several of my school friends thought my father was deceased.  When told this one day by a friend, I felt confused. But these friends, who didn’t live in my far away neighborhood from school, really did believe I was fatherless. To me, my father was always there in his own way.

As I grew older, I began to realize that my Father was never going to be like the other Father’s.  I did know that he and my Mother were happy together and there was never a time when I heard them arguing or seem mad at each other.  It was a family day when I graduated from High School, and when I stood on that stage waiting for my name to be called down to receive my diploma, I looked out at the audience and there he was sitting next to my Mother with a smile on his face and clapping a bit too loud. This for me was a rare moment.  After the ceremony, he asked me to show him my diploma.  I remember how long he stood reading the text before he handed it back to me.  There were no words, just a smile. 

My Father did retire when his working days allowed him to do so. Finally able to live another life, he spent most of his time in our living room reading book after book or building something in our basement. But his real love was going fishing. He always managed to bring home enough fish to feed the entire family and some of our next door neighbors. 

Then all at once, his only daughter grew up and when my to be husband asked his approval for my hand in marriage, he sat down with him and asked, “What was his plans for the future?”  Old fashion I know, but necessary for his approval of my choice who he knew quite well as he was “The boy next door…”. 

As a bride standing in the back of the church waiting for the Wedding March to be played, my father said to me, “Your dress is beautiful but I hope I don’t step on your train.” I almost laughed out out, but the look on his face told me he was dead serious and nervous about this happening.  I did reply, “Well if you fall, I will definitely pick you up.  At that point the music started and right before we took our first steps done that aisle, He whispered in my ear, “I love you. You are beautiful…”

As I looked into his deep blue eyes and carefully combed snow white hair, I wrapped my arm round his and felt what I always knew about my Father’s life with me.  Our relationship may not have been one of words, but what I always knew in my heart is that he had always been there for me with so many lessons of quiet actions, which sometimes are far more imporant. 

To this very day,  I guess you can say, my Father was always going to be my very own quiet hero.  

PS. We got down that long aisle without a misstep of any kind.