Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are encouraged to be creative in 250 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
He was neither old nor young and if he had memories … good, bad, happy or sad … they were long forgotten, washed away like tears in rain.
His hand reached for his breast pocket, fingers touching the familiar object resting inside. A harmonica. He had no idea where it came from nor did he know why it was in his pocket yet somehow with an intrinsic knowledge he knew it was his.
Removing the instrument from his pocket, he stared at it as he reverently caressed the wood, reading the faded inscription. Raising it to his mouth, he began to play an old tune he forgot he even knew.
People passing by dropped coins into the white cloth shopping bag at his feet. He might not remember much but he’d never forget the delicious aroma of the crusty baguette in his bag.
A little boy of perhaps eight years of age shyly approached, dropped a coin in the man’s bag and ran back to his father waiting nearby. There was something about the older man that made the boy’s father pause for just a moment.
This ritual continued for several days and the two men pensively acknowledged each other with a nod.
One day before the boy ran back to his father, the man slipped the harmonica into his hand. When the boy’s father read the inscription, he knew. He looked up but the older man was gone.
He closed his eyes as a teardrop landed on the harmonica.
Written for Jim Adams’ Thursday Inspiration #232 where the theme is “Too Late”. Jim has given us free rein so I have written about a song featuring the ‘too late’ theme.
The first single from the album Valotte, and Julian Lennon’s most successful, was “Too Late For Goodbyes”, released in 1984. While Julian has gone on record to affirm that this song was not about his estranged relationship with his father but rather a failing romance with a woman, one cannot help but wonder. Considering a figure resembling John looms largely in the video, the song could carry more meaning despite Julian’s objections.
John and Cynthia Lennon divorced when Julian was just five years old, and for the next nine years Julian rarely saw his dad. When he was 14, Julian reconnected with John and made occasional visits to his home in New York City.
Julian inherited many of his father’s musical gifts, including a knack for songwriting. He wrote “Too Late For Goodbyes” on his own and released the song when he was just 21. It was a Top 10 hit in both the UK and US and helped him earn a Grammy nomination for Best New Artist, which he lost to Sade.
The album was produced by Phil Ramone who had managed albums by Paul Simon and Billy Joel. Ramone kept the production tasteful and mature considering he was working with a 21-year-old British kid in 1984. This is one of the more synth-heavy tracks on the album, with prominent guitar and bass.
If there’s one thing that bothers me about this video it’s the fact that we see Julian “playing” harmonica (it’s really just his cupped hands) but the legendary harmonica virtuoso Toots Thielemans was the one who actually played the harmonica part. Picky, maybe, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. It would have been nice to see Toots in the corner playing his harmonica; gotta be a reason that didn’t happen. The video, which was directed by movie director Sam Peckinpah, did very well on MTV; Peckinpah also directed Julian’s next video which was for his song “Valotte”.
“Too Late For Goodbyes” was a top-10 hit, reaching #6 in the UK Singles Chart in November 1984, and #5 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart in late March 1985. The song peaked at #1 on March 16, 1985 on the US Adult Contemporary chart, spending two weeks in the top slot.
One final note that is so obvious it cannot be ignored: the Beatles’ DNA is incredibly dominant as we can see here in Julian’s video, in performances by Dhani Harrison, Sean Lennon, James McCartney and drummers Zak and Jason Starkey, two of Ringo’s sons. All the Beatle Boys bear a striking resemblance to their famous fathers and have been blessed with their very identifiable voices, artistic songwriting abilities and performing talents …. quite a legacy for a little group from Liverpool.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the Sangala Valley and the day was already warm. Ekon, a middle-aged widower and his son Mosi sat outside as they did each morning eating their breakfast before beginning their long day. It had been just the two of them since Ekon’s wife Bisa died from a mysterious illness several years earlier.
The Sangala Valley is very small but a good home for Ekon and Mosi. There is an abundance of sunlight for growing crops and copious amounts of fruit trees to provide food and much needed shade during the hottest times of the day. Mosi fishes daily in nearby Lake Caballo; he has become quite proficient but Ekon is the hunter, always keeping them well-fed with rabbits, pigs, deer or fowl. They also keep roosters, chickens and have a mare mule for milk.
Three other families live in the valley and share the area peacefully, frequently trading with each other. Ekon and Mosi are fortunate to have a variety of foods to eat; however, they have had little luck growing wheat or other grains – something Bisa excelled at. Sometimes the women bring them flatbread and loaves of Green Mealies, a fluffy corn bread, in exchange for fish or rabbits.
Forests of wild pine trees grow in the distance and the view from the valley is magnificent. One evening as father and son relaxed by their campfire, Mosi expressed his greatest desire: “Father, one day I shall visit the Cloud Mountain Pines.”
“One day?” exclaimed Ekon and laughed heartily. “My son, the pines are hundreds of miles away, a rigorous and dangerous journey of many months. It is a quest, not a day’s adventure.”
“But how can that be, Father?” Mosi questioned. “I can see them as clearly as I can see Lake Caballo.”
“Mosi, the wild pines are enormous and tower over everything” Ekon explained. “Their closeness is a mere illusion.”
“But Father” Mosi argued. “Look across the lake. The pines are plainly visible and the land is flat. We can get there in two days!”
“That is true, my son, but reaching the pine trees on Cloud Mountain is another story. You must give up this fantasy. Now, off to bed for both of us.”
Mosi did not mention the Cloud Mountain Pines again for a long time but he never abandoned his dream. One morning during breakfast Mosi told his father that he had decided he would not be able to rest until he traveled to the woods – or at least tried. Ekon’s first reaction was to once again talk Mosi out of his idea but as he looked at his son he realized he was no longer a child and his mind was made up. Ekon told Mosi he understood the need that drove him and they would make the trek together.
Mosi was overjoyed and immediately began to prepare. Ekon said they must bring only the barest of necessities, their fishing and hunting tools and their mule Shiga. There was also one priceless object which Ekon would never leave behind, a treasure handed down from generation to generation: a tiny vial containing the Tincture of Jal’mboor. One small drop on the tip of the tongue would enable the user to speak in any language chosen and the spell would remain until no longer needed.
They set out the following morning, reaching the woods at dusk on the second day. Mosi was shocked to find how much bigger everything was. Even the smallest trees were taller than him. Ekon and Mosi camped under the moon at the foot of the lake; after an early breakfast of fruit and nuts, they set off. The terrain was flat and easily passable until the fifth day when they came upon a vast, swiftly moving river blocking their path. Having no craft, the duo consulted an old map and chose to travel east. This would take them out of their way but it was the safest route. After many days of walking, they reached a shallow section of the river which they crossed safely.
The new terrain was steeper and difficult. The forests were dense and hardly any light shone through. They were keenly aware of the ominous stillness and Ekon kept his spear at the ready. Without warning the trees began to quake; suddenly hundreds of birds flew out and disappeared. A second later a massive Basambi Kurumandi Tiger appeared. He stared at Ekon and Mosi, deadly pale green eyes observing their every move. He snarled, exposing razor sharp fangs. Ekon whispered for Mosi to stand perfectly still but Shiga was spooked and whinnied loudly. In an instant the tiger leapt but Ekon was ready and felled the giant cat with his trusty spear through its heart. Father and son refilled their water skins from the river and, exhausted, went to sleep far from the felled tiger. They would start fresh in the morning.
“‘Cattle Decapitation‘?! What the hell kind of music are you into now, Colin? Sounds like another really depraved rock band from Sweden or Britain – that’s what you’re listening to these days, isn’t it?Like that other group you worship – ‘Liquid Graveyard’. What the hell does that even mean, Colin? Your mother and I have had it with this heavy metal music, if you can even call it music, which you insist on blaring down here; we’re losing our minds. You have absolutely no respect for anyone else. Your poor grandmother is afraid to come out of her room and eats all her meals behind her locked door. Frankly it’s nothing but noise and I can’t blame her one bit for keeping herself locked away. I mean, it was bad enough when you were into ‘Motörhead’ and that Lemmy freak but we kept our mouths shut; kids go through phases, I know that. Then you started getting into some pretty disturbing stuff, groups like ‘Autopsy’ and ‘Cannibal Corpse’. Really, Colin! It’s damn upsetting to the whole family and we’re seriously on the brink of kicking you out of the house. What do you have to say for yourself? What do you want to do with your life?!” Colin’s father, Mark, was apoplectic with rage.
“I WANNA ROCK!!” Colin wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but he wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction. Instead, he looked up at his father from the beach chair in his basement bedroom and calmly asked “Are you done spewing your uninformed and ponderous statements, Dad, or do you have more to say? If you’re done, I’m gonna ask you to leave my room and let me enjoy my music. If you’re not, feel free to continue your rant. You don’t mind if I put on my headphones, do you?” Colin knew he was adding gasoline to the fire but at this point he didn’t care any more. Obviously his father had been going through his stuff; he never takes the time to listen to what he has to say and has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. Actually comparing ‘Cattle Decapitation’ to ‘Motörhead‘ – what a pedestrian misconception!
“Why you little son of a bitch! You’re telling ME to get out of YOUR room? This is MY house; I just let you live here! We fixed up the basement for you when your grandmother moved in. We could have easily had you share a room with Kyle but we realized you needed your own space. And how do you repay us? By turning this place into a shit hole! Look at your crap – magazines, posters, CDs, video games, boxes of God knows what spread out all over the place. No wonder your mother practically has a panic attack every time she has to come down here to use the washing machine. She’s almost as scared as your grandmother! It breaks her heart seeing what you’ve done to this room. You know, she always wanted to make this her arts and crafts area but gladly gave up the space to accommodate you. Have you ever shown your appreciation, even once? No, you haven’t! You’re such a selfish and spoiled ingrate!” Colin stared at his father, fascinated as he watched his eyes bulge with every word and the throbbing veins in his neck looked like they were going to explode.
“Since we’re talking about me, Dad, other than my taste in musicand the fact that you think I’m a selfish ingrate, have I ever done anythingyou‘re ashamed of? I’m a good student and I’ve got a job. All the stuffyou call “crap” – I bought everything you see here with my own money. I never asked you for a dime to buy CDs or video games. That’s a lot more thanyou cay say about other kids my age but you‘ve never acknowledge that. You just constantly browbeat me about my music. Dad, let me ask you a question. Didn’t you have your favorite groups when you were my age, maybe even some your parents didn’t approve of?” Colin asked.
Mark was momentarily caught off guard; he’d never heard Colin talk like this before. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time they actually had a civilized conversation; they always just screamed at each other. Who was this kid?
“Of course we did, Colin. We listened to lots of different groups like ‘Guns N’ Roses’, ‘Mötley Crüe’, ‘Whitesnake’ and ‘Quiet Riot’ but that music is no comparison to the crap that’s out today, especially this garbage you’re listening to. Yeah, maybe my father gave me some grief now and then – it’s a father’s job to keep his kids in line – but back then the music we listened to was really good. You know, your mother still loves The Beatles? You can’t get any better than that.”
Colin sprinted out of his chair. “Dad, do you honestly think you’re telling me something new? I know all about those groups you used to listed to. You think I’m only aware of what’s popular now? Give me a little more credit than that! At least my mind isn’t closed off like yours.I like ‘The Beatles’, ‘Stones’, ‘Led Zeppelin’ and ‘Deep Purple’. But I accept the fact that my music isn’t for everybody and you should at least acknowledge that and try to be a little more broadmindedinstead of sticking it to me every chance you get. Did you ever think the reason I stay down here listening to my music is because you and I never just talk about stuff?”
Mark exhaled deeply. “You make some valid points, Colin, you really do but at least the names of the groups we were into weren’t twisted. Tell me, what the hell kind of name is ‘Cattle Decapitation’, for crying out loud? It’s not normal! What the hell am I supposed to make of that?”
“Come on, Dad. It’s just a name. Didn’t you listen to ‘Poison’ and ‘Fine Young Cannibals‘ and ‘Nine Inch Nails’? And since you mentioned “twisted”, what about ‘Twisted Sister’?What kinds of names are those? Besides, you don’t know the first thing about ‘Cattle Decapitation‘” Colin replied.
“Well, it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what the name means, Colin. It’s repulsive!”
“And there you go again, making a judgment call with no real information to back it up! Dad, can you cool down long enough to let me tell you something about them?”
Mark sat down heavily on the side of Colin’s bed. “Go ahead, Colin, but it’s probably not going to change my mind.”
‘‘Well, you might be surprised. And I’m not making any of this up. It’s all on the internet so Google it if you don’t believe me. ‘Cattle Decapitation’ is an American group, not Swedish or English. That’s right – from right here in the US of A, just like your good old boyTed Nugent! And they aren’t famous for cutting off the heads of innocent cows or sheep. Their songs actually protest the mistreatment and consumption of animals and the abuse of the environment. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear that the members of the band are vegetarians, just like me – or haven’t you noticedI gave up eating meat two years ago? They aren’t savages. When you think about it they’re not all that different than ‘that fab little group’ Mom loves so much; they’re just expressing themselves in a different way.“
Mark looked at his son with skepticism. “I don’t know, Colin. That just doesn’t make much sense to me. I mean, listen to them; that lead singer sounds like he’s possessed by demons!”
“That’s because they’re angry about the situation of the worldand they’re trying to get our attention! Their song ‘Bring Back the Plague’ is all about COVID-19 and is the painful, truthful humor we all need right now. And it was filmed responsibly on cell phones while the band was in self-isolation. Do us both a favor, Dad. Forget the music for now and just read the lyrics to their songs, then compare them to thegroups you listened to. That’s all I ask; think of it as a compromise. After that, if you still want to kick me out of the house, that’s your right.”
“Ok, Colin, I’ll take a look but I can’t promise anything.”
Mark went to the fridge and grabbed a Bud Light. He climbed the stairs to his den, flipped on ‘Metallica‘ and Googled ‘Cattle Decapitation‘.
“Well, I’ll be God damned! he said after reading for half an hour. “The kid actually knew what he was talking about.” Mark switched off ‘Metallica’ and searched YouTube for ‘Bring Back the Plague’. Putting on his headphones, he took a swig of his beer and for the first time in ages he actually paid attention.
Originally published in 2020. Resuscitated, reprised and revamped to complement my post for today’s edition of In The Groove at The Rhythm Section. Please stop by and check it out. https://rhythmsection.blog/
A dozen years had passed since Danny Cameron had seen his parents. Perhaps he would have handled things differently had he known this estrangement would be the outcome. He asked himself that question every day and the answer was always “no”.
Danny excelled at football in college and had a shot at going pro but his real passion was music. His dream was not shared by his father, Donal, who constantly pushed Danny in the direction of professional sports. Night after night Danny was subjected to the same diatribe:
“What the hell kind of musical career do you think you’re gonna have? If you think you’re gonna be the next Paul McCartney you can forget that pipe dream! Danny, you can be a great quarterback on any pro team you want, make millions and have womenbeating down your door. You’d be a damn fool to let that opportunity pass you by!”
Danny couldn’t stand another lecture and the dam burst. He yelled at his father in frustration:
“Dad! Enough! Football may be your dream but it’s not mine. I know it won’t be easy but I’m determined to pursue music. Forget the money and all the women. I’ve met someone and we’re moving in together. It’s time I started living my life on my terms.”
Before Donal could respond, Danny’s mother Fiona chimed in excitedly:
“Danny! Why didn’t you tell us you have a girlfriend?! This is so exciting! What’s her name? How did you meet? We must invite her to dinner. I want to hear all about ……..”
“STOP!” Danny shouted. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend. His name is Richard. I’M GAY!! Mom, Dad – I’m gay.”
And there it was – not exactly what Danny planned but the words were out and there was no taking them back. Donal was enraged; he lashed out, slapping Danny’s face so hard he almost fell over.
“GAY? Call it what it is, Danny – you’re a fucking queer! You make me sick! Get out of my sight! Get out and don’t come back!!”
Grabbing his phone and car keys, Danny stormed out. He moved in with Richard, a law school student by day/valet parking attendant by night. Danny had a couple of gigs in a bar but that didn’t last and he eventually got a job as a singing waiter. He hated it but it helped pay the bills.
Fiona secretly phoned Danny from time to time and managed to get his belongings to him, but father and son never communicated.
Richard passed the bar exam and landed a great job. Danny had written several “damn good songs” as Richard called them but he just couldn’t catch a break. Richard encouraged him to be patient and keep trying.
Friday was a busy night at the restaurant. Danny was singing “Something” to a newly-engaged couple when he saw his boyfriend Richard come in with a group of people. When Danny’s song was over, Richard motioned him to the table and said “You have a great voice, man! Do you sing anything other than Beatles songs?”
Curious as to why Richard was pretending he didn’t know him, Danny played along replying that he had written a number of songs.
“Well, how about singing one of your own songs for us?” Richard asked.
Wondering where this was all going, Danny sat at the piano and sang one of his original songs. The people in the restaurant loved him. One of the men at Richard’s table handed Danny his card and said “Call me tomorrow”. The card read ‘Bob Ludwig, Gateway Mastering Studios, Inc.’. Trying to keep his cool, Danny expressed his thanks but his heart was pounding and his head was about to explode; Bob Ludwig was a mega recording producer!
Thanks to Richard and that meeting with Bob Ludwig, Danny’s career took off and he became a sensation. They talked about getting married and having kids some day. Richard and Danny were the happiest they’d ever been.
Then the call came from Danny’s mother; his father was gravely ill. Fiona said Donal was asking for him. After all these years Danny knew it would not be easy seeing him again; he reluctantly acquiesced.
Danny returned to his childhood home where Donal was being privately treated. Waving Fiona and his nurse out of the room, Donal beckoned Danny to come closer. He could barely speak and Danny bent down, his ear next to his father’s lips.
Donal rasped, his breathing labored:
“I hear you’re a star, a real big shot. You’re famous! You’re living the life you always wanted, aren’t you, Danny? Everyone adores you but to me you’re still nothing but a disgusting queer!”
Danny stared into his father’s cold, unforgiving eyes; all he saw looking back at his was loathing and revulsion. Devoid of all emotion, Danny reached for Donal’s oxygen tube and squeezed it as tightly as he could, cutting off his air supply. Wheezing, Donal’s eyes bulged and his face turned blue; then he stopped breathing.
Danny straightened the crimped oxygen tube and walked out of his father’s room without looking back. Hugging his mother tightly, he whispering “It’s over, Mom. It’s finally over”.
Rebecca Jameson couldn’t get to sleep. She shifted her body from side to side but just couldn’t get comfortable. Maybe she should go downstairs and watch The Tonight Show.
“Can’t sleep, Becca?” Danny asked groggily.
“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to wake you!”
Danny flipped on the nightstand lamp. Rebecca glanced at the alarm clock; it was very late and Danny had to get up early for work. She felt terribly guilty but this last month of her pregnancy was rough. She got up and waddled to the bathroom, then settled back in bed cradling her substantial belly. Danny propped himself on one elbow and rubbed Rebecca’s tummy.
“Well, I’m up now so what can I do for you, babe?”
Rebecca looked at him sheepishly and Danny grinned. “Rocky Road with Gummy Bears and rainbow sprinkles?” he asked, knowing her cravings so well.
“You don’t mind?”
“For you and Danny Jr? I’d do anything, Becca. Thank God for the 24-hour Dairy Princess!” He kissed her forehead, grabbed his wallet and bounded down the stairs. “Back before you miss me!”
That was the last time Rebecca saw Danny.
When Danny didn’t return after 30 minutes, Rebecca wasn’t worried; late Friday nights at the Dairy Princess were always busy. One hour later and she was starting to get a little anxious. After two hours she was a nervous wreck. She tried calling Danny; her calls went straight to voicemail. When she called her dad Frank, a detective with the NYPD, he answered immediately.
“Becky! Are you OK? Is it the baby?”
“The baby and I are fine, Dad. It’s Danny. He went for ice cream two hours ago and hasn’t come home yet. Daddy, I’m scared” and she started to cry.
“Sweetie, Mom and I are coming right over. Try not to worry; I’m sure everything’s gonna be alright.” Frank hoped he sounded confident but he knew Danny; this was totally out of character.
Rebecca and Danny knew each other all their lives. They were childhood sweethearts and never dated other people. Rebecca was a kindergarten teacher and Danny managed Jameson’sDeli. They had the same friends and spent all their free time together; they even shared the same Facebook page. There were no secrets between them.
Danny was thrilled when he and Rebecca found out she was expecting a boy. He started calling him Danny Jr. and talked non-stop about the things they’d do together. With just two weeks to go, Danny was eager to be a dad.
When Rebecca’s parents arrived, they found her nervously looking out the window. Her mom Betty made a pot of tea while Frank talked soothingly to his daughter.
“Listen, honey. I called the station on the way over here and my guys are out combing the area. I know you’re scared but there’s got to be a logical explanation. People don’t just disappear, especially not Danny.”
The hours ticked by without a word. Rebecca became more and more agitated, certain something terrible had happened. Betty convinced Rebecca to get a little rest and she managed to doze off. When she got up to use the bathroom, Rebecca’s water broke and Frank drove them to the hospital. They went straight to the ER and a few hours later, Danny Jr. was born. He was perfect but Rebecca’s world was never the same.
Seasons came and went without a trace of Danny. Frank and his team never stopped searching; every trail led to a dead end. It was as though Danny Jameson never existed.
Rebecca never accepted Danny’s disappearance. How could someone simply vanish and why? She took solace in caring for Danny Jr. which was a double-edged sword. He was a happy, well-adjusted child who gave Rebecca much joy but he was also the spitting image of his father. Whenever Rebecca looked at Danny Jr. she saw Danny. It was difficult.
Danny Jr. asked about his father and Rebecca explained as best she could. At first the boy seemed content with the answers his mother gave but as he got older he heard people talking about how his father “just up and left”. He asked Rebecca about that which she vehemently denied; there was no way Danny would have walked out on them. Still, restless thoughts occasionally visited Danny Jr. It didn’t help when people would comment on how much he looked like his father.
A missing person case eventually turned into a cold case. Rebecca refused to have Danny declared legally dead. As painful as the unknown was, that closure was too much for Rebecca to handle.
When Danny Jr. was in his late teens, Rebecca was diagnosed with breast cancer. Whenever Rebecca went for a chemo treatment she’d say “Back before you miss me”. She struggled for 8 years, finally succumbing at the age of 52. Danny Jr. was 26 years old, happily married with one daughter.
On the day of Rebecca’s funeral, Danny Jr. and his family stood near the side of his mother’s grave. His mind was whirling with memories of his mother and questions about his father. Would he ever know what really happened to Danny?
As the priest recited the final prayers, Danny Jr. stared straight ahead, his eyes filling with tears. Just then he noticed a man standing across the street from the gated cemetery. Danny Jr. was shaken to the depths of his soul by the appearance of this man; their resemblance was uncanny. At that moment Danny Jr. realized he was looking at the face of his long-lost father. Even at a distance the men’s eyes locked and Danny Jr. began to slowly walk across the cemetery.
As he drew near to the man a large bus rolled by, momentarily obscuring his view. When the bus had passed and Danny Jr. had a clear view, the man was gone.
In his heart Danny Jr. knew that man was his father. He would have given anything for just one hour with him.
When I was a toddler my family moved to City Island, a little place in the Bronx, New York. And when I say little, I’m not kidding – 1.5 miles long by 0.5 miles wide. There was one main street and the houses were on the narrow side streets, each with a small beach at the end. Just about every day we would play for hours on the beach at the end of our street. As far as I’m concerned there was no better place for a kid to grow up.
My Granddad “Pops” was a retired commercial fisherman and he taught us the ropes. We learned how to tie knots, cut bait, fillet a fish and just about everything there was to know about boats. Every weekend we’d row over to Sullivan’s Marina where Pops’ fishing boat “Sea Devil” was docked and spend the day fishing … mostly. I can still remember him scolding us when we dawdled: “Hey, you clowns! Fish or cut bait!”
When we were first learning how to cast our rods there wasn’t a single time that Pops didn’t get stuck by an errant hook. Our collection of his favorite curse words grew on a weekly basis. So many memories of days on the “Devil” like the time my brother sliced off the tip of his finger while cutting bait or when the anchor chain snapped and we drifted until someone gave us a tow.
But nothing compared to that Saturday in April. The sun was blazing and it was extremely hot for a Spring morning. My Dad had the rare Saturday off because it was Easter weekend so he joined us. It was me, my two brothers, Dad and Pops crammed into a rowboat headed for Sea Devil.
I don’t know if it was the heat or the dormancy of the day but the fish weren’t biting. We were sweating bullets and out of bait. That’s when Pops noticed the dark clouds in the distance and figured we better just count our losses and head home.
We climbed into the rowboat, Dad and Pops manning the oars. The sun was obscured by clouds and there was an eerie stillness around us. We heard roars of thunder and Pops and Dad rowed faster. We heard it before we saw it … pouring rain, strong winds and swelling waves. They rowed like madmen but not fast enough. Suddenly we were engulfed in a raging storm and a giant wave crashed into us, picked up the rowboat and flung us into the water.
The fast-moving rains headed toward shore and the waves quickly subsided. By some miracle we were all alive and the boat was floating upside down. Pops and Dad scooped us up in their arms and swam to the boat. Uprighting it was impossible so they dove under it to find that precious pocket of air.
“Hold onto the seats, boys, and keep your heads above water. Dad and I are going back out and we’ll push this boat to shore” instructed Pops. We clung to the seats for dear life while Pops and Dad struggled with the boat. After what seemed like an eternity they felt the sand beneath their feet and the air pocket became bigger. Eventually we also felt the sand beneath our feet and we all carried the boat to shore … to safety.
That was almost 65 years ago and I’ve never forgotten that day though it didn’t stop me from going back out to sea. I have a boat and love fishing. And every time I’m cutting bait I’m thinking of Pops.
Monday after school my friends and I are in our usual hang out .. Carroni Brothers Grocery store. We go for snacks, gum .. typical things 10 year old boys like. I want chips but I forgot my money. My friends don’t have any to loan me so I just walk around the store .. but those chips keep calling me. Next thing I know, I snatch the bag of chips and bolt out the side door. Instead of running as fast as lightning, I toss the bag into a nearby milk crate and squat down next to it. Whew! I made it! Suddenly Mr. Carroni is looming over me. He grabs the bag of chips and snarls at me “Get out of here, you little thief, and never come back!”
That night I prayed Carroni’s would burn down. No such luck.
Every day that week I gazed longingly at the store from my school bus.
One thought kept haunting me: Sunday morning .. when Dad and I take our customary walk to Carroni’s for fresh Italian bread, a box of macaroni, cannoli and the newspaper. Maybe I should just run away from home.
Sunday arrives and Dad’s calling for me to “get a move on!” I keep making up excuses why I can’t go but he’s not buying them.
Dead man walking. I’m dilly-dallying the whole way .. watching caterpillars, kicking pebbles, stopping to tie my shoelaces … again.
“C’mon, kiddo! What is this…a funeral?” Yeah. Mine! I start crying, blubbering gibberish. Taking hold of my shoulders, Dad looked me square in the eye and said “Ok, what’s going on?”
Sobbing pathetically, I told Dad the whole sordid story. Taking out his handkerchief, he wiped my face, held it to my nose and said “Blow. Listen, kiddo, what you did was wrong but it’s over. Now we go apologize .. and not a word about any of this to your Mom. This stays between us guys.”
We walked into the store, picked out our usual items and walked up to the counter. “Mr. Carroni, my son has something to say.” I managed to squeak out “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll never steal anything from you again” and extended my hand. An eternity seemed to go by but to my shock, Mr. Carroni took my little hand in his meaty one, gave me a solid handshake and nodded in agreement.
“Anything else?” he asked my Dad.
“Just this” responded Dad as he tossed a bag of my favorite chips onto the counter.
The Elephant's Trunk 