A Grand Day with Dad

by M. Patrick Mitchell

I started running toward him as soon as the ball left my hand. I knew it was going to be bad. Sure enough, as I was about 5 feet from my son the ball flew straight through his hands and collided with his forehead.

The realization of pain came slowly. His mouth opened, stretching to the limit revealing a mouth full of tiny teeth. No sound came yet. His lips turned blue from lack of oxygen, but before grabbing him I paused, a smile widening on my face.

Next came the gasping intake of air and then the scream; it burst from the depths of his soul. His lips returned to pink and his arms slowly raised, searching for comfort. The initial wail continued the length of a minute. I lifted him up and held him to my shoulder. He melded deep into my chest and still the scream continued. It was too funny now and I pried him away as his need to inhale a second time quieted the neighborhood.

“Oh my, buddy, can I take a look?” I asked sweetly, near laughter.

Seeing my smile he continued to scream, grabbing me harder and lowering himself down onto my shoulder once again.

Again I pulled him away and checked his face. I wiped my son's tears away with my palm. Eyes red and swollen, face wet, and mouth open, he showed no initial sign of injury. I grabbed him again and held him close.

This second round of hugs and comforting words settled him down enough that his cries turned to deep soft sobs. Within a few seconds his body relaxed and he did not move. Eventually understanding that death would not descend upon him his breathing slowed. One arm lay on my shoulder and the other limp by his side. I set him back down on his feet and kissed away the remaining tears.

“I think we should stop, now.” I said, this time without the smile.

“Noooo!” came the cry and all evidence of the fear and pain were
dissolved with another chance at catching a ball.

He ran back, picked up the ball and in mid stride heaved it straight in the air. This time I screamed, jumped and tripped but it fell passed his head and shoulders landing at his feet. My head, however, collided with a lounge chair near him.

I cursed and he laughed.

I rolled over onto my back and my son jumped on my stomach putting a knee in my groin.

I cursed louder and he laughed louder.

Once again he got up and came down, harder this time. I was ready, though, and caught him. Sort of. He folded at the hip and his foot swung and caught me once again in the privates. Involuntarily my body crumpled, I tried to keep him up but he fell out of my hands and our heads met.

I heard the knock, like two porcelain bowls touching a little too hard. This time there was no delay, the wail rang out and immediately I forgot my pain. I sat up and tired to stand without success. Falling back I set him down quickly hoping he would stay standing.

He did, but I continued back head first into his tricycle. I recovered quickly, though I felt blood trickle down my face as I reached for him. He startled at my hulk stumbling back toward him and threw up his arms catching me in the eye with his fingers.

My slough of curses came now without check as I grabbed my now streaming eye. This did nothing for my son whose screams grew louder.

My wife walked out the back door and viewed the scene playing out in the yard.

“Oh my God, what in the world is going on out here?”

She went over to my son who had heard the door open and picked him up and held him in her arms. His sobbing ceased immediately as did my foul language.

“We're playing catch.” I said calmly.

“Well come inside and let me get you cleaned up.” She replied with a roll of her eyes.

I got up, walked inside, sat on the couch and turned on the TV. I was presented with a wet towel and a bag of ice. A few minutes later I was presented with my son who was now clean and wearing a new outfit. He sat next to me and I noticed the lump on his forehead. I leaned over and kissed it ever so gently.

“You OK?” I asked.

He nodded.

My wife entered and put a tray table in front of us. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with two cups filled with milk and a plate of cookies. I divided them up, dunked my first one and watched him do the same.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

"Can we play again tomorrow?"