Short Story

Matinee Idol

Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

This is The Unicorn Challenge
where we are asked to be creative
in 250 words or less using this photo
as inspiration. Here is my story.

© Ayr/Gray

There was never a time when my father didn’t sport a mustache. A thin, elegant line when he was a young man, a bit more pronounced as he grew older but always neat, always refined.

Dressed in his army uniform, he was every bit the matinee idol and it was obvious why Mom fell for him.

When we visited him in Albany Medical Center the morning of his surgery for multiple aneurisms – both abdominal and aortic – his grey hair was neatly combed, mustache trimmed.  He was 82 years old and the doctors gave him a bleak 6% chance of surviving the operation. Yet, survive he did.

My sister’s daughter – my father’s eldest grandchild – gave serious thought to postponing her wedding until my father was stronger. He insisted she “do nothing of the kind”. He told us all, in no uncertain terms, that he would never miss his first grandchild’s wedding …. and he didn’t. Dressed to the nines in his tux and bow tie, perfectly groomed silver mustache, we all held our breath as they walked hand in hand onto the dance floor for what would be their last spin together.

When my dad died, we provided the undertaker with a photo for reference. The inexperienced mortician did a lovely job tending Dad but, looking back and forth from the photo to my father at peace his coffin, the undertaker knew something was amiss.

It was the first time any of us had ever seen Dad without his dashing mustache.

NAR©2024
250 Words

The Unicorn Challenge-29/03/24

This is “Celluloid Heroes” by the Kinks

All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.

35 thoughts on “Matinee Idol”

    1. Sorry for the delay in my response, Keith. Looking at the date, it was just when my brother-in-law passed away.

      Thank you for your lovely comments. My Dad was special; I wish I had more time with him to let him know that.

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  3. Such a gorgeous story. I can feel your love for your dad in every line. He sounds just amazing. I do like how you’ve used his moustache as a focus – that’s a great idea, and it worked well to unify the story. I’d love to see a photo of your dad.

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    1. Thank you, Margaret; your words have touched me. Just like everyone with 20/20 hindsight, I appreciate my Dad much more now than I did as an ungrateful youth. Life was not easy for my parents …. nor yours, I’m sure. I wish I realized that then. Dad was a wonderful man, even if overpowered more often than not by my mother, and I did love him. He sure loved me! This is an older pic of the family and one of my favorites …. I’d say circa 1959. I’m the peanut on the left and if I did everything right, it should appear here!

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        1. You nailed it, Margaret; he was quite the mischievous one. Too bad you can’t see how blue his eyes are.

          Mom was ever stoic.

          That’s my sister in the back …. Xena, Queen of the Amazons! She’s 11 yrs old there and must have just gone through ‘a growth spurt’. There’s a 4 yr age difference and by the time I hit 14, I was already taller than her.

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    1. He was a self-educated Sicilian immigrant who, thanks to a strong suggestion from his barber shop boss, began reading the New York Times to learn English. I never detected a hint of an accent. One of his proudest moments was doing the NYT crossword puzzle …. in ink!

      My Dad was a people person. He became a mailman and talked to everyone on his route. He loved inviting friends to the house for dinner and if they went to a restaurant, he always picked up the tab. He was a proud Italian-American, sang in our church choir and enjoyed a good laugh and a cigar …. when my mother allowed it.

      He was a sweet man.

      Thank you for your thoughts, Jenny, and you lovely compliment.

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    1. Many of my stories have a hint of truth while others have a splash of fiction. Only those who know me inside and out can tell the difference.

      This is true, from the first word to the last.

      Thank you, dear Willow, for your most gracious comments. 🩶 🩶

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      1. I bet he was.

        And he probably would have. Mick never sported a mustache (couldn’t grow facial hair for the life of him) yet during his 10-day coma it grew around the damn ventilator. They shaved the rest of his face but left the ‘stache. Drove me nuts.

        My pleasure, Madame!

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