A Sunday Morning Drive

by Gary W. Cantor

     I was sitting at the kitchen table when I heard my wife�fs voice coming from the hallway.

     �gCome on, dad.  I made a big breakfast for us.�h

     I couldn�ft make out what my father said in reply.  For a long time before that day his voice had been weak.

     I looked up, and my wife and father came slowly into the kitchen.

     �gGood morning, pop,�h I said.  He nodded in return.  Then, my wife helped him into his chair and turned to me.

     �gI think we�fve packed everything.  And if we forgot anything, we can always take it over next week,�h she said, before going over to get the coffee.

     My father sat across the table from me.  He was hunched over, and his thin white hair fell softly on his forehead.

     �gDad,�h I said.  �gI think this is the best thing to do.  I know you don�ft want to move, but I think you�fll be much happier at Carson House.�h

     My father looked at me and said in a weak but still angry sounding voice, �gI don�ft want to live in any nursing home.  I want to stay here.  I�fve been living with you and Anna for three years now.  I haven�ft been any trouble to you, have I?�h

     �gOf course not, pop.  Oh, we�fve been all over this, haven�ft we?  We love having you here, and would love you to stay longer.  But, we�fre not in the greatest financial situation.  So, Anna is going to start working part-time.  She won�ft make much money, but it will help.  Anyway, as I�fve explained before, when she�fs out of the house, there will be nobody to look after you.�h

     �gNobody has to look after me.  I can look after myself.�h

     �gI know you can, pop.  But what about medical emergencies?  Twice in the past year you had to go to the hospital.  The last time, when you fell and broke your hip, I can�ft imagine what would have happened if nobody had been at home.  Thank God Anna was here to call the doctor.�h

     I was trying to speak in a calm voice, but it wasn�ft easy.  We had been explaining to my father for weeks why it would be better for him to live in a nursing home.  But, no matter what we said, it didn�ft seem to make much of a difference to him.  He didn�ft want to go, and that was that.

     Actually, I myself didn�ft really want to see him go to Carson House.  Oh, it was a nice place and all.  But, I have to admit that when we visited there I did get a little depressed seeing only old people.  Besides, as old and weak as he was, and as demanding as he had become, he was still my father.  He had sacrificed his whole adult life for me, and I felt like I had a responsibility to do whatever I could to help him feel comfortable in his old age.

     But, Anna was insistent.  There was no way we could continue to make it on my income, she said.  And with her out of the house, she didn�ft want to have to worry about something happening to my father.

     I knew she was right.  But still, this was dad.  And he didn�ft want to go.  He wanted to live until the very end in that house with us.  And he let us know that every day in the days leading up to that Sunday.

     After Anna poured the coffee, the three of us started eating.  Throughout the meal, nobody talked.  The quiet was horrible.  I started to say something about ten times, but each time the words wouldn�ft leave my mouth.  Finally, the quiet was broken by the sound of the telephone.

     Anna immediately got up and went to the next room to answer it.  Then, she came back and said to my father, �gIt�fs Billy.  He wants to talk to you, dad.�h

     Billy is my son.  He was a freshman in college.  He had always been close to his grandfather, and I was happy that he had called.

     Anna helped my father to the phone and they were both gone for about ten minutes.  Then, when they came back, my father said, �gThat Bobby, he�fs always been a good boy.�h

     I didn�ft correct him.  For a year or so he had been having some trouble with his memory.  It wasn�ft very serious.  But, he often made mistakes with names of people and places that he had known for a long time.  It�fs funny, though.  He never made a mistake with my name.

     After breakfast, I went up to my dad�fs room and started bringing down his suitcases and other things and put them in my car.  I told Anna not to help me.  I didn�ft want my father to be left alone.  I could only imagine how he felt.

     Finally, I went into the kitchen and told them that everything was in the car.  They got up, and the three of us walked out to the car.

     Anna helped my father into the back seat, and then sat next to him.  Usually she would sit next to me.  But, I guess she didn�ft feel right letting my father sit alone at a time like this.

     I started the car and we moved slowly down the street.  Then, at the corner, I turned left onto a main street.  Carson House was about 15 miles away on that same street.

     Soon after turning onto that street, I looked at my father in the mirror.  He was staring out the window with a sad expression on his face.  I glanced out of my window in the direction that he was looking to see what he was staring at.  It was the park.  Small and unimpressive as it was,  I�fm sure it meant a lot to him.

     ...Suddenly, I saw my father in front of me.  But, he didn�ft look the same.  He was about 15 years younger.  He had more hair and wasn�ft as stooped over as he had become in later years.  He was walking into our house through our front door with my mother.  Then, after greeting Anna and me, he said in a jovial voice, �gWhere�fs my buddy, Billy?�h

     A second or two after that Billy came running over to us.  He was about four years old, and was wearing a cowboy hat and boots that my father had given to him as a present.

     �gGrandpa, grandpa, can we go to the park again?�h

     �gYou bet, Billy!  Let�fs go!  Do you want to play catch again?�h

     �gYeah, I�fll get the ball.�h

     Then, my father turned to me and said, �gWe�fll be back in about an hour or so.�h

     But, I knew they wouldn�ft.  I knew that like always they would be there for two and a half or three hours and would come back looking exhausted but about as happy as two people could possibly look...

     I looked in the mirror again and noticed that my father was no longer staring out of the window.  He was looking down at a piece of paper.  I wasn�ft sure what it was, but it probably had something to do with the nursing home.  Suddenly, Anna broke the silence that had continued since we had gotten into the car.

     �gDad, I heard that the food at Carson House is really good.  A friend of mine told me that the man who supervises all of the cooking there used to be a chef at a French restaurant.�h

     My father, without looking up, said, �gI don�ft like French food.�h

     I decided to change the subject.  �gWhat did Billy have to say?�h I asked.

     My father didn�ft say anything.  Then, after I repeated the question, Anna said, �gBilly told me that he�fs going to come home next weekend.  He said that on Sunday he�fd like to come with us when we visit dad.�h

     My father, still looking down, muttered, �gHe�fs a great kid, that Bobby.�h

     Since it was Sunday morning, it was quiet and there were few cars on the road.  It was probably for that reason that the sudden noise that rang out on my left startled me.  I looked over in the direction of the noise, and noticed that my father had done likewise.  There was a Little League game going on, and somebody had probably just gotten a hit or scored a run.

     I looked away from the game, but before my eyes there was another game in another time...I was standing with my father next to a baseball diamond.  He was in his middle thirties.  He stood tall and erect, and had short black hair.  I was nine years old and it was just before my first Little League game.

     �gPop, I don�ft want to play.  Do I have to play?�h

     �gWhy don�ft you want to play?  I thought you liked baseball.�h

     I didn�ft say anything.  My father looked over my head at the pitcher warming up on the other side of the field and then looked down at me.

     �gAre you afraid of that pitcher over there?�h

     �gNo,�h I answered.  But I had no doubt in my mind that my father knew exactly how I was feeling.  He looked up at the sky for a moment and then, squatting down, looked up into my fearful eyes.

     �gIt�fs natural to be a little bit scared before your first game.  Everyone is.  But don�ft worry.  Everything will be fine.�h

     He stood up slowly and patted me on my shoulder with his strong right hand.  Then, after starting to walk away he turned around and looked at me again.

     �gI�fll be right over there,�h he said, pointing to a tree that stood in foul territory not far from third base.

     During the course of that game I must have looked over at him at least a hundred times.  And every time I did he smiled and waved.  And each time I went to bat I heard him yell out, �gYou can do it, Ken.  Give it a ride.�h  He yelled it just as loudly the last time I batted as the first.

     Regardless of his enthusiastic support, I struck out every time I batted that day.  But, even though I felt like a failure at the end of the game he looked at the bright side of things.

     �gYou did real good.  And you�fll do even better in the next game.  How about getting an ice cream cone?  A new shop opened up about two blocks from here.�h

     �gSure, dad.�h

     As we walked over to the ice cream shop he talked about baseball and about how even the greatest of players have bad days.  And by the time we got to the shop and ordered our ice cream I couldn�ft wait for my next Little League game...

     A car turned quickly onto the street in front of us and I had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting it in the rear.  Looking in the mirror, I saw a petrified look on Anna�fs face.

     �gAre you all right?�h she asked.

     �gFine,�h I answered.  But, of course I understood that what she was really asking was more like,  �gDo you want to kill us all?�h

     Thinking about my father was making it difficult for me to concentrate on my driving.  But I couldn�ft help it.  How could I not think about him and about what I was doing to him?

     Here was someone who had always been there for me.  He had given me everything he could, and how was I repaying him?  I was taking him to a nursing home against his will.

     I felt miserable, and this led me to try to counter my feelings of guilt.  There was no other way, I thought.  Anna was right.  There was no other way.  She had to work, and there was nobody to look after my father.  Also, he would be in good hands.  He would be staying in a very comfortable room, eating good and healthy meals, and there was a doctor at Carson House around the clock.

     Besides, I thought, what I was doing wasn�ft unusual.  It�fs very common for old people to live in nursing homes.  Times have changed.

     I thought like that for a minute or so, but realized that it wasn�ft making me feel any better.  So I tried to avoid the subject altogether.  For a few minutes I looked at everything on the street around me and read the names of all of the shops to myself:  �gMacGregor�fs Market�h, �gSmith�fs Drugstore�h, �gCheap Liquor�h, �gFancy Dan�fs Men�fs Shop�h, and on and on.  But feelings of guilt and betrayal continued to creep into my head.  So I tried to start a light conversation.

     �gPop, do you know who won the baseball game last night?�h

     �gNo, I went to bed early last night.�h

     �gOh, really?  Browning was pitching.  He was going for his twentieth win.  I listened to the first few innings on the radio, but then I fell asleep.  I thought maybe you would know if he won or not.�h

     �gWhat?  I can�ft hear what you�fre saying.�h

     �gI said, I thought you might know if Browning won his twentieth game or not last night.�h

     �gOh.  I don�ft know.�h

     He didn�ft sound very interested.  So, I stopped trying to make conversation and continued to glance around at the street around me.

     A lot had changed in the area in the last few years.  Most of it was for the better.  There were a lot of new stores, and several new ethnic restaurants were enjoying immense popularity.  Chinese, Indian, and Middle Eastern restaurants that had sprung up in the last few years often had long lines that went out onto the sidewalk on Saturday nights.

     Anna must have been thinking along the same lines that I was.

     �gIt sure has changed around here,�h she said.

     �gYeah, it really has, hasn�ft it, pop?�h  I said, hoping to get my father talking.

     But, he didn�ft say anything in reply.  I decided not to press it.

     Once again it became silent in the car.  I looked at my father in the mirror.   He noticed me looking at him, so I turned away and looked in front of me again.  Soon we would be at Carson House, I thought.

     I approached a traffic light, and as I did I saw it turn yellow.  Since there was still some distance between us and the light I decided to stop.  While we waited for the light to change, once again it was Anna who broke the silence.

     �gWhat do you think they�fre building over there?�h

     She pointed in the direction of an elementary school that stood in front of and to the right of where we were.  There was a large unfinished structure that seemed to be jutting out of the side of the school.  Obviously they were adding something to the school.  But, I wasn�ft sure what it was.

     �gI don�ft know, but it might be a new gymnasium.  Or maybe an auditorium,�h I said.

     �gIt sure is a nice looking school.�h

     Anna was right.  It was a beautiful school.  The main part of the school was three stories high, and there was a beautiful fountain that stood surrounded by bright green grass in front of the school.

     Looking at it reminded me of another school.  And it reminded me of another time... I was six years old and it was my first day of school.  I was standing in the middle of the school playground.  My teacher had taken the class outside for a short break before lunch.  I was crying, just as I had been for just about the whole morning.  I was scared, I hated school, and I wanted to go home.

     Just then I saw a large figure enter the playground and start walking in my direction.  My vision was blurred by the tears in my eyes.  However, before long I could see that it was my father.  He was young and handsome and wore a dark business suit.  He nodded in the direction of my teacher and then greeted me with a soft smile.

     �gMother called me at work.  How are you doing?�h

     �gI�fm sorry, pop.�h

     �gWhat are you sorry about?�h

     �gBecause of me, you had to leave work.�h

     �gThat�fs OK.  Do you want to take a little walk?�h

     He took me by the hand and led me in the direction of the playground gate.  Then, after leaving the playground we walked along a tree-lined street that ran adjacent to the school.

     For a while my father said nothing.  Then, he stopped walking and patted me softly on the top of the head.

     �gDo you think you�fre the only boy who ever cried on his first day of school?�h

     I didn�ft say anything in reply.

     �gWell, you�fre not.  Did I ever tell you about my first day of school?�h

     I shook my head from left to right and then back again.

     �gI can still remember it like it was yesterday.  I walked to school with my brother Larry, your Uncle Larry.  He was in the fifth grade and didn�ft want to walk with me to school, but my mother said that he had to.�h

     My father took a deep breath and then continued.

     �gAnyway, Uncle Larry took me to my classroom.  I was fine while he was there, but when he left I looked around at all of the other kids and the strange room and the teacher standing in front of me, and I got scared to death.  I cried and cried.  The teacher came over to me and tried to calm me down, but it was no use.  I cried all morning long.

     Lunch didn�ft make me feel any better.  But, when we returned to our classroom from the lunchroom, guess who was standing in the corner of the room!�h

     I didn�ft say anything, so my father continued talking.

     �gUncle Larry.  The teacher must have gone over to his classroom and told his teacher about my crying.  Anyway, he didn�ft say anything to me.  He just stood there in the corner.  But just seeing him made me feel a lot better.

     After a few minutes, the teacher told me to do some work with the children sitting at my table.  I did, and a few minutes later when I looked over to the corner of the room, I noticed that Uncle Larry was gone.  But it didn�ft matter.  I knew that I was all right and wouldn�ft cry any more.�h

     My father smiled at me and then laughed ever so lightly.  Then, in a quiet voice he asked, �gDo you want to go back to your class?�h

     I nodded, and he walked me back to the playground.  My class was still there.

     When we got back to where my classmates were playing, we stopped.  I looked up at my dad and said, �gI think I�fll be OK, pop.�h

     �gI know you will,�h he said.

     He then walked over to my teacher and they talked for a minute or so.  Then, he came back to me and said, �gI think I�fll be home a little early today.  Do you want to play catch before dinner?�h

     I nodded, and then watched as he walked ever so slowly out of the playground.  When he got to the playground gate he turned around and waved to me.  I waved back.  I wasn�ft crying, and I knew that I wouldn�ft cry for the rest of that day, either...

     I tried hard to hold back the tears, but could feel the moistness of a teardrop just under my right eye.  We were about two blocks from Carson House.

     I won�ft do it, I decided.  I�fll just turn around at the next corner and start driving home.  If my father wants to stay with us, then that�fs exactly what he�fll do.  I owe him at least that much, I thought.

     But, my determination was short-lived.  It wasn�ft that simple.  As much as I wanted him to stay with us, I realized that it wasn�ft possible.  Anna was right.  I wasn�ft making enough money, and if she didn�ft work we were going to be buried in debt.  Besides, more than me it was her that had been taking care of my dad for the last three years.  I had no right to make such an emotional decision at her expense.

     While I was still deep in thought, I noticed that we had arrived at Carson House.  It was indeed a nice looking place.  It was a five-story brick building with beautiful landscaping.  In front of the building there was a large, freshly painted sign that read �gCarson House - A Community of Friends�h.  I glanced at the sign and stopped the car.

     I took the car keys out of the ignition and started to open my door to get out.  But then, Anna said, �gYou two wait in the car for a few minutes.  There�fs some paperwork to take care of.  I�fll do that myself.�h

     I watched as Anna walked quickly toward the large building and opened the front door.  Then she disappeared from sight.

     I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.  Then I looked down at my lap.  Then I looked at my watch.  I was incredibly fidgety.  I looked at my father in the mirror and saw that he had his eyes closed.  I wondered if he was sleeping.

     I turned on the car radio.  The news came on, but it all just seemed like noise to me.  What was taking Anna so long, I thought.  I couldn�ft stand it any more.

     Then, suddenly, at the height of my misery I felt something on my shoulder.  It was my father�fs hand.  He tapped me on the shoulder twice and took his hand away.  It was a familiar gesture to me.  It was a way that he had of consoling me.  He must have done it a thousand times when I was a boy.

     I thought of saying something to him, but before I could I caught a glimpse of Anna out of the corner of my eye.  She was about fifteen yards from the car.

     I opened my door and got out.  Then, I walked to the rear of the car.  I was just about to open the trunk to start getting my father�fs things out when Anna stepped up to where I was standing and spoke to me in a quiet voice.

     �gYou don�ft have to do that,�h she said.

     �gWhat do you mean?�h I asked.  I had no idea what was going on.

     �gI just cancelled his room reservation.  Let�fs go home.�h

     �gYou what?�h I asked.  I was startled.

     �gIt�fs not right,�h she said, her voice as quiet as a whisper.  �gHe belongs with us.  He�fs your father.�h

     I stood there with my mouth wide open.  Anna looked down at the street and then continued to speak.

     �gThe whole way over here I�fve been thinking about it.  Telling your father to leave our house and come live here just isn�ft right.  I can�ft do it.�h

     �gBut what about our money problems?�h I asked.

     She looked me in the eye and said in a quiet but firm voice, �gWe�fll make things work somehow.  I might be able to do some part-time work at home, like making clothes.  I�fve been making my own clothes for years.  Why not make clothes for money?  And I can tutor students.  And, if we try real hard maybe we can spend a little less money on things that we really don�ft need.�h

     When she stopped talking I looked at her for a moment and then reached out with both of my arms and hugged her.  I could feel her heart beating.

     I walked to the front door of the car and opened it.  Then, I leaned over the front seat and looked at my father.

     �gWe�fre going home, pop,�h I said.

     He said nothing in reply.  He just looked at me and smiled.  It was a smile I had seen many, many times before.

This story was published in Hakumon Chuo (a Chuo University publication) in 1998.