One day, an older well-dressed gentleman in his sixties
walks in to our restaurant and says that he needs a table for 2. Great, I seat him and tell him that when his
date gets there, I will send her down.
After about 15 minutes, a woman of 40 walks in and says that she is
meeting her father. I send her down, he
stands up to greet her and gives her a hug.
She says, “Aww, dad, you got all dressed up for me?”
“Of course, always.” He replies, sheepishly.
They sit down and for an hour, he sits enraptured by her
stories of her work and how she is not sure about what she wants to do with her
life, about her daughter and how fantastic she is doing in school, and about her
husband and how he’s looking for a new job.
I see in his eyes, regardless of the fact that she is a middle-aged
woman who has her own family and husband and life, that she is his little girl.
As a child, my father and I rarely had alone time, let alone
“dates”. He was always working, but as a
little girl he was a superhero to me.
His hands could always fix anything.
His imagination could create anything. His music and stories could
always make me smile. He was always my
safe place. And now as a grown woman I
start to see that his hands are old from working; he has all these dreams and
ideas that he is racing against time to fulfill; and sometimes his guitar is
out of tune when he sings. But he is
still my safe place. And no matter how
old I get, I will see him as my superhero.
I think it’s my turn to take my father out on a date.
No comments:
Post a Comment