Don't Be Me

I Know What Kind of Man I Am

He didn’t say anything. Dad just lumbered into the waiting room and sat down beside me, somehow squeezing his muscular frame into the uncomfortable chair. For long seconds, nothing was said.

“The worst part is the helplessness,” he said, softer than a sigh. “You'd give anything to have them rip your kidney out through your nose, but you have to sit here and trust your whole world to the hands of a man you never met.”

“Woman,” I said after half a minute of silence. “Doctor Bancroff is a woman.”

Dad made a sound that could have meant anything. His weathered hands rubbed absently at the cracked upholstery. His right leg betrayed him, bouncing up and down in time to the jangling of a nerve.

“You weren’t supposed to be my oldest,” he said finally. An unfamiliar weariness dripped from his voice. His index finger tapped a broad nail against the arm of the chair. “I sat in this room three times. Right here, probably in this same damn chair.”

I turned to look at the person who defined manhood for the length of my life. The lines on his face ran deep. When he lifted his eyes, there was a pain that melted my own to shadows.

“Your mother had a stiff uterus.” He shrugged. “Had. Anyway, we found out she was pregnant in May. In June, we found out it was a girl. In July, I sat here fourteen hours, watching nurses rushing in and out that door.” He pointed at the operating room. “When they pushed the baby heater out and it was empty, I knew I lost one of them. It was four more hours before I knew your mother was safe.”

A knot in my throat choked my breath. A tear slid down my cheek. Dad rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His throat worked three times before his soft, clear voice returned.

“Your granny came to stay three months after that. Church ladies made a steady trail like a bunch of pissants.” His eyes opened and lifted to focus on the ceiling. “December brought good news. I spent Valentine’s Day in this fucking place.” Dad’s barrel chest shook slightly. “More church ladies. Granny stayed two months.”

“Jesus, Dad.” I cast a quick glance at the double doors that separated me from my wife. “How the hell do you deal with that? Two in a year.”

He shrugged. Made helpless duck lips. “What can you do, son? You persist. You roll out of bed and hide the hurt. You kiss your wife and never let her see the doubt, because she needs a rock and all you are is blood and bone.”

“Jesus.”

He cleared his throat and wiped his nose on his hand as he sniffed. His other hand ran through the thinning strands of silver that no longer covered the crown of his head.

“Look, I’m telling you not to worry about Maureen. She’s a strong girl and she’s going to make it fine. And she’ll have all the support she needs if-“

Dad’s voice disappeared suddenly. His breath was slow and deep, as if he was rebreathing his perceived weakness. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

“No one is going to ask you what you’re going through,” he said finally. “Your heart is going to break every damn day and no one will dry your tears. Hell, no one will even ask if you have any tears.” His head swiveled slowly. “I’m telling you now, I damn well care. I can’t change anything. I can’t make it feel better. I may not even be able to talk to you about it. But don’t ever…” For the first time in my life, I heard real emotion in my father’s voice. Fear. Grief. Love. “Don’t you ever think I’m one of those sorry bastards that doesn’t care.”

A nurse came through the doors and scurried down the hallway. I watched my father wrestle with demons I never knew existed. My hand reached out and lay itself on his shoulder.

“I never thought that.”

He snorted and looked away. “Bullshit. I know what kind of man I am.” My hand retreated and Dad stood up. He turned a slow circle, hands on his hips. “I don’t do feelings. Never have. Feelings don’t change a damn thing, son.” His eyes found mine. Strong. Hard. “I raised you to be a man, and you are. But you don’t have to be lonely. Stop by and have a beer. Even if we don’t talk. Whatever the hell you want to do. Just… just don’t be me.”

Dad’s voice drifted into silence. He turned away and walked the length of the room and back. Sat down and sighed. After a moment, his arm rose and found its way across my shoulders.