The Note and the Visit

The summer of my ninth birthday, my dad, mom, sister and I visited my father’s childhood home for a family reunion. My dad’s younger brother ran the cattle ranch. With the help of my older cousins, he kept our grandpa's land and the livestock in good shape.

Dad seemed happy to again be riding a horse and he took me along for a couple of rides. The reunion, which included a children's talent show, was August 3, 1963 and two days later dad wrote me a note.

Richard Lee -

I have wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the horseback rides we had at the reunion. You will probably remember riding across the river bend through the squaw bushes, magpie nests, rabbit brush, salt grass, clay hills and washes. Remember, you said, "Stop Daddy, isn't it a beautiful sight," as we looked up towards grandfather's home.

The white face cow knew where it was safe to take her calf across the river. She went into the river on a trail that was well marked and came out on the other side on a trail that had been traveled many times. We saw the signs that indicated a good place for crossing the river, didn't we?

Look for and read the signs that lead you safely where you should go, Richard, as you go through life.

You sang "Christopher Robin" beautifully. I'm very proud of you.

Your father,

Joseph

Unknown to my sister and me, our dad was dying. Two physicians had independently diagnosed him with a rapidly advancing form of lung cancer. After that visit to the ranch his condition quickly deteriorated and he died December 9, 1963.

Fifteen years later in July of 1978, I had graduated from college, landed a good job, married a young school teacher and together we were settling into our first home.

Early on the morning of July 4th our doorbell rang. I jumped out of bed, opened the door and there I saw a man who appeared to be a healthy, younger version of my father.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t attend your wedding,” he said as he stood on the doorstep. “But I also know how much you love the 4th of July, so I figured this was the second best time for a visit.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Came to see you of course. Congratulations on your marriage and on getting your degree and on the new job, too.”

“You’ve been doing some homework on me, haven’t you?” I replied.

He smiled as he looked over my shoulder. "I see you've got a piano. I hope you're still singing."

"My wife plays the piano," I explained, "and sometimes I sing along."

Holidays, weddings and funerals sometimes bring loved-ones together people in unexpected ways. “How have you been?” he asked.

Since high school graduation my time was filled with work, college, dating, travel and some family difficulties. I told him, “These have been some of the best and toughest years of my life. I don’t get along very well with my step-dad, especially when he’s been drinking, which is every weekend. So when I turned 19, I left home and got an apartment near the university. I miss mom, but I see her every month or so.”

He looked me right in the eye and said, “Even if you’re not crazy about your stepdad, I’m glad you’re staying in touch with your mom. Sometimes we just don’t fully appreciate our parents until they’re gone.”

This fatherly advice made me laugh. “Well, I guess you’d know all about that.” He had also left home as a teenager to attend college and see the world. “Tell me all about your college days, your travels, your career."

“That’s a long story,” he replied.

“Then why don't you come in? You can meet my wife. We can make you some breakfast.”

“I’d really like that.” He smiled but seemed to look through me with his gentle blue eyes. Then my phone started ringing and he said, “I’ve got to go.”

He reached out to shake my hand, and then surprised me when he put both arms around me, pulled me in close, giving a big bear hug that wasn’t all that common in the seventies. I could smell the scent of old fashioned Lilac Vegetal aftershave and feel the stubble of his clean shaven face as he spoke quietly into my ear, “Happy 4th of July, Richard Lee. Stay in touch with your mom. Don’t be too hard on your step-dad. Be good to your wife. I love you. I'm very proud of you.”

He held me close like that for a few seconds and it seemed that I was somehow both a child and a man, a little boy and college grad all in the same moment.

Then I again heard the phone ringing. “Richard, the phone's for you,” said my wife, but instead of standing in the doorway I was lying in bed. My visit on the doorstep had seemed so real. How could it have been only a dream?

I was 24 years old. I’m now 68. My wife and I are now empty nesters with grown children and grandchildren. Still that old note and that unforgettable vision of my father's visit have brought warmth and solace each July 4th all these decades later.