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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Friendship & Family
- Subject: Memorial / Tribute
- Published: 01/19/2021
My Buddy
Born 1955, M, from Manasquan, NJ, United States.jpeg)
When the doorbell rang at five o’clock sharp my heart jackhammered. This was going to be just plain weird, because last time I saw my father was sixty years ago. Had he lived longer, would we have butted heads over issues like the Vietnam war, peace, love, and Woodstock? Or maybe we could have bonded in solidarity with rebels like Timothy Leary and his ilk. He’s my father, but since he died when I was six, metaphorically walking out that door, every relationship I’ve ever conjured up is pure fantasy. Everything I know of him is conjecture from hearsay and family lore. It’ll be great to finally see who he really was...
“Wow,” Buddy said peering up from beneath the wide brim of his felt fedora. “You sure have changed!”
“Oh really?” I replied, a lilt of sarcasm in my voice. “Maybe it’s the three feet of growth since we were last together, but then again, it could also be the facial hair.”
“Humph,” Buddy shook his head with a smirk. “Well, you’re still a bit of a wisenheimer, that hasn’t changed. Are you going to invite me in, or what? I don’t have forever, ya know...oh wait, maybe I do!” My father guffawed at his own joke.
“Okay, now who’s cracking wise?” I said, stepping aside to let Buddy enter.
So far this was going okay. I got a shot in, Buddy got a shot in, and neither of us was angry or overly emotional. It felt a bit like catching up with an old friend. We continued with anecdotes and small talk until midway through the meal, then I redirected the conversation to more weighted matters....
“Dad, I do have a serious question to ask, and I want you to answer as honestly as you can.” At this Buddy’s face fell a little. He seemed disappointed we couldn’t simply stay in the moment and enjoy each other’s company. “I’ve spent a lot of time wondering about when you taught me to swim.” Now Buddy looked genuinely confused so I pressed on. “We were crabbing on that dock along Barnegat Bay, remember? And then...”
“Stop right there,” Buddy interrupted, holding up a hand like a traffic cop. “You want me to answer honestly, but you’re asking a question predicated on a falsehood.”
I felt as though he was scolding me, still in the role of father. Worse yet I was crestfallen, thinking he was going to lie and deny ever throwing me off that dock. I actually chuckled when he continued.
“I never taught you how to swim,” he said, making air quotes around the word taught. “So why don’t you rephrase the question.”
“Okay,” I said, palms up in a pleading gesture, “you’re absolutely right. You did not teach me to swim. So what the hell were you thinking when you threw me in the water!?”
With a thoughtful pause, my father gathered his memories and after a deep sigh he began. “I figured when you said ‘serious question’ we’d end up someplace stupid like this. Look, I knew on a visceral level you could swim...”
“Now it’s your turn to stop,” I said, in a raised voice while pointing my finger at his broad chest, “because this is most definitely not ‘someplace stupid’ to me. I’ve been thinking about it for years!”
The stare down and silence that followed my outburst was leaden. I was first to blink, conceding a loss, but that was about all he’d get for an apology.
“If you’ll allow me to continue giving my honest answer,” Buddy finally said in a soft, measured voice as though speaking to an overly sensitive simpleton, “you may also learn why talking about this is a waste of time. Like I was saying, I knew you could swim; otherwise, I’d have never thrown you in the water. You may find it hard to believe but this was never about you or your aquatic skills. I threw you off that dock for your mother’s sake.”
Now I was the one genuinely confused. This was always just between Buddy and me, and other than my mother being initially furious with him, she had no part in it. I grabbed the arms of the chair, bracing for a totally new perspective.
“Your mother had been anxious about your swimming since springtime,” my father continued. “She knew you were terrified of deep water, that’s why she signed you up for those useless swim lessons at the ‘Y’. As our summer vacation drew near, her fear of you drowning increased. Believe me, that poor woman was a nervous wreck by the time we got down to the shore. It broke my heart seeing her so miserable. She worked hard too and needed that vacation.
After getting everything situated at the house, we decided to kill the rest of the afternoon crabbing. I noticed your mother had one eye on her crab pot and one worried eye on you, her head snapping back and forth like she was at a tennis match. That’s when I understood there were two choices here: spend the next three weeks watching the woman I love worry herself sick, or throw you in the water now and take her verbal beat down so we could get on with our vacation. Oh and by the way, the look on your face as you flew off that dock made your mother’s hail of abuse worth it!”
Buddy chortled at the memory, but I was struck dumb by his version of events. I wanted to tell him how much I admire his devotion to Dorothy Loretta, but was fearful if I tried to speak I’d end up whimpering instead.
“Don’t go all blubbery on me now,” my father pressed on, “cause I’m not quite finished yet. My big miscalculation was assuming when you got a little older I’d be able to explain all this. Needless to say, I never got the chance, which brings me around to why this is a stupid topic. Our time here is limited, son, and we need to live life, not fritter it away obsessing over troubling events. Now, can’t we just enjoy our meal together?”
“Sure,” I said. Then I raised a glass in memory of my father.
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