Not so long ago

I fell in love for the first time when I was five years old. He was tall, dark and handsome. He had hands that could heal every hurt and words that made everything that was wrong with the world right in an instant. One day, I went to the bank with this man. There were velvet ropes sectioning off the line. Heavy, U-shaped velvet ropes that sometimes keep club goers in line on the street. Not the straight elasticized ones you see in banks nowadays. I detached my hand from his just long enough to entertain myself by skipping back and forth over these ropes. Hop. Hop. Back. Forth. He trained his eyes on me and said, "Jayne, stop that." There was no discernible anger in his voice. Not even the slightest bit of annoyance in the warning. It was simply an instruction. For some reason I took it as my cue to jump over one last time- and then I'd surely find something else to satisfy my idleness. But one inexact movement was all it took. On my final skip, my foot hooked the bottom of the weighty rope and brought down the poles which the ropes were suspended on. Down one by one. Like dominoes. Like giant, Stone Henge dominoes. Everyone stopped and stared. My face grew hot and the tears spilled immediately. I felt an embarrassment that was so new, so foreign to me at such a young age. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole. At least then, I'd be out of sight from so many appalled pairs of eyes. My shame was quickly eclipsed by the abject fear of the consequences of not listening to this man standing before me. But not for long. In one swift movement he scooped me off my feet where the last pole lay on its side. I bawled. I was inconsolable. When I could finally speak- I could only manage to wail, "I....Sorry Daddy...I'm sorry." There, at the teller's window, impervious to the toppled poles and judging eyes... he said calmly into my hair, "It's alright, Dahlin'. Yuh wit me. With me."

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.