“Beautiful Brown Eyes”

The first time I was invited to a “Club” party as an adult
I searched for differences through my newly grown up eyes.
I had been admitted, even if only temporarily,
to the inner circle.
Sitting alone at my table I scanned the room,
attempting to take in the nuances of change and growth.

There was daddy near the bar,
leaning against the wall amidst his “cronies”
a glass of rye whiskey & water in his hand
discussing the virtues of,
Winchesters vs. Remington,
12 gauge vs. 20 gauge,
setter vs. pointer,
fly-cast vs. reel-cast,
live bait vs. lures,
and, of course, laughing at the inevitable bawdy jokes.

Across the room, mama was seated in the open,
accessible to a steady stream of adoration,
from those who loved her for
coffee & empathy,
mothering & mentoring,
empathy & strength,
crocheting & wit,
listening & advice.
Her laughter drifted across the room,
like the scent of lilacs
through and open kitchen window.

Funny seeing them so did not make me feel more adult.
Instead I felt the comfort of childhood all around me.
The same familiar people I had always known,
beloved by an entire community.

Mama and daddy with
wisdom gained through years of struggle,
and small triumphs.
Mama and daddy
who could turn no one that hungered away,
no matter whether that hunger
was of the body or spirit.

Mama and daddy
who built a house and home,
with hands and hearts,
to surround us all
with love and warmth.

Mama and daddy
with a lifelong policy,
of open doors
and open hearts.

Grown and away from this safe haven,
My life changing
day by day
hour by hour,
indeed sometimes
moment by moment,
I longed to linger at this place,
in this space in time.
As daddy approached me
I listened as I always had,
for the creak and click
of the joint in his prosthetic leg.
A sound comforting in it’s familiarity
taking me back to those childhood nights,
when I would wake upon hearing it
and rise from my bed to be
rewarded with treats from his lunchbox.

Sitting alone at my table when
my daddy asked me, “May I have this dance?”
I passed from childhood to adulthood.
An instantaneous rite of passage
was this invitation to dance,
from a man who seldom danced
even with his wife of many years.
Silently holding back tears
I searched his face for the man,
whose little girl I had always been.
My fishing partner,
my shooting teacher,
the man who confided in me
things he had never shared with any other,
simply because I was never afraid to ask,
and just behind his bright blue eyes
I found that man still lingering.
His longing to freeze time,
to stop the clock,
no less intense than mine,
and I loved him all the more
for his restraint,
for his acceptance
of my adulthood.

Smiling up at him I gently declined
his offer of a dance.
Pointing out that with his prosthetic right leg
and my plastered left leg
we were a clumsy pair
with only two good legs between us.
We lingered together for a moment
at this place, in this space in time,
then smiling he turned
his prosthesis creaking and clicking
as he closed the distance
between himself,
and his beloved wife.
I watched him lead her to the dance floor,
her arthritic joints
making the going slow and painful.
Stopping for a moment he spoke to the band
and the strains of “Beautiful Brown Eyes” filled the room
as my daddy and mama began to dance,
one more dance.