I think this may be one of only two or three posts that I have ever put in the "Sad" category. Not sure, but it's definitely something that makes me sad remembering it.
When I was in my teens and still living at home with Mom and Dad, I had to get up pretty early for school. I'd stumble downstairs in the dark hours and put the kettle on for some instant coffee. I'd pour the cup until it was filled to the brim and stumble back upstairs with it to try taking a shower in a semi-conscious state.
Note: I NEVER finished my morning cup of coffee. Most days, when I left for school, at least half of that cup was abandoned on the kitchen counter.
Yes, it was early in the morning when I was getting up. But it wasn't nearly as early as my poor father had to get up to get ready to schlep to the train for the two-hour commute into NYC. He did this every day for over 30 years. Probably saw most of the sunrises and most of the sunsets in those 30 years from the seat of the North Jersey Coast line train car. All to support his wife and children and make sure we got the sneakers and the vacations and the beach club memberships we wanted. But was I conscious of his sacrifices in those days? Hardly. And what I'm about to tell you is, in my mind, one of the most awful things I've ever done to another human being. And I did it to my father, one of the two people who sacrificed almost twenty years to make sure I lived to adulthood.
One morning, dark and cold, I arose and made my cup of instant coffee as usual. My father and I passed in the stairway and I probably made some grouchy sound going by. My father quietly asked me if he could have a sip of my instant coffee. And my response? My awful, awful, awful response?
"The water in the kettle is still hot."
And I continued on my blind path upstairs towards the shower.
Years later, it still bothers me that I denied Dad that sip of coffee. Denied it to the man who was up even earlier than I, who had been getting up at that hour for decades, who did it for his family without complaint. And that day, he did it without a sip of my crummy instant coffee.
Yes, it still bothers me. I wish I could go back to that day and change events so that I smiled and handed him the steaming mug and he took a sip and handed the mug back to me and said "Thanks" before he left the house to commute yet another day two hours into NYC and two hours back. What a difference, in my mind, that small gesture might have made.
My Dad and I get along just fine. In fact, my relationship with both parents improved significantly the day I moved out of the house when I was 19 or so. And to be honest, I told my parents last weekend about this memory that bothered me. My parents remembered the day instantly. Mom said "That still bothers you? Good!" My Dad let me in on the truth. He was really only worried that I had filled the cup to the brim, as usual, and was probably going to slosh some of the contents on the rug or the walls going up the stairs, as usual, and he was trying to prevent that from happening. It wasn't that he really wanted a sip of the coffee.
But that's irrelevant, really. It still bothers me, probably always will. And Dad, if you ever, ever, ever ask for anything from me again?
The answer is yes. I owe you. Big time.
Thanks and much love,
Lynne
Oh, Lynne! I think the fact that you remember and regret that is probably more heartwarming to your dad than you could ever imagine. It far outweighs that initial utterance, I'm sure.
Posted by: scorpy | Thursday, March 31, 2005 at 08:57 AM
How precious is it that he just didn't want you spilling hot coffee all over yourself? :-) Dads are great.
Posted by: Bekah | Thursday, March 31, 2005 at 09:31 AM