When I was a young boy, going to the movies was just about the height of entertainment, especially for a 10 year old. I remember I wanted some attention from my father, so one day I asked him to take me to a movie, not any special movie, just one that happened to be playing. I didn’t care which movie, I just wanted to sit next to him and watch a movie and then talk about it afterwards. He said that he would come home early on Wednesday and take me to the movies. My anticipation kept me on edge and as the days passed I at times asked my mom, “What day is it?” and when Wednesday finally did come, I anxiously waited for my dad to come home. I waited and waited and when he came home it was late and his hands and face were dirty because they had no hot water in that shop and when he washed with cold water he couldn’t get all the dirt off, so he showered the minute he got home, where the water was nice and hot.
I remember as a young boy, wanting to get dirty like him, sort of like it was the proverbial Badge of Courage that I wanted to have.
He said he was sorry he came home so late, he had to finish a job for a man who was waiting for his car, which meant that he had gotten paid, and money was something that we surely did need, so I completely understood and made no fuss about it.
He promised that on the following Wednesday he would come home on time and take me. I kept reminding him about it all week long and sure enough he came home early that Wednesday and we rushed to eat and then walk to the movie.
I sat to the right of my father; we were in very good seats, center of the screen. The name of the movie was “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine.” It was a great epic movie in Technicolor, and as you can see, I never forgot the movie’s name. It was about a boy and his father who operated a large tractor steam-shovel. I recall it was sad but I think it had a happy ending.
As I was sitting there next to my father and wondering what he was thinking and maybe what I would ask him later, I began hearing heavy breathing and looked to my left and saw my Pa sitting with his head tilted forward, fast asleep… I felt so bad for him, and guilty because I made him take me to the movies when he was so tired, and the fact that he did take me, meant that he loved me that much. I also knew that day how much I loved my father.
When we walked home that evening, he held my hand…all the way home. I will always remember his caring warmth and the feeling of his hand in mine.
By David S. Weinstein
David S. Weinstein makes simple words tell a story of life’s complex, heartfelt and compelling truths.
