Just for Dad

As related, Charlie has been missing his dad ever since Jim said good-bye to us at the Newark Airport on Friday morning. So far we’ve X’d out two days, Friday and Saturday, on the picture schedule and Charlie’s been saying “Sunday, Monday, Dad; Sunday, Monday, Dad.” And, instead of looking panicked when he asks for Dad’s blue shirt and is told it’s in the kitchen on the table, Charlie’s been repeating my words and grinning.

Yesterday, while pacing nervously in the driveway for my relatives to arrive for his birthday party, Charlie said “yes” to a walk with alacrity. My parents live at the very bottom of a very big hill and up Charlie and I went. We went up past the elementary and middle schools I attended, up past a canyon where a woman walking in the other direction told us she’d just seen a mother deer and her fawn, up to the painted rock and then really up, up, up, up, round steep and twisting bends and into the driveways of houses built into the side of the hill (and having a terrific view all the way to San Francisco), up under pine trees and eucalyptus, up and up. (Charlie’s on the left-hand side of the photo, if you look closely.)

I kept asking Charlie about turning around and heading back to my parents’ house. It was hot under the afternoon California sun but each request was met with “walk, this way, yes” and Charlie pointing up.

Finally it occurred to me to ask: “Charlie, where are we going?”

Charlie looked up at me from under the hood of his blue sweatshirt. “Dad.”

Whereupon, I had to break the news that no matter how far up we walked, it was unlikely we’d find Jim at the top of the hill, at the end of the particular road that we were walking on. It took some more walking up, and some more explaining, before Charlie assented to turn around.

But what can I say about a boy who’ll walk as far as he can to find his dad?

Happy Father’s Day to too many great great dads out there!