Calendar Of My Life

It was October. I was being winch from the place I had spent my first three trimesters. I was upside down and my derrière was being slapped.

I screamed, “Father, I don’t like it here, I want to come home.”

Before my vexation had waned, I found myself sitting at my grandmother’s table, “More stuffing, please.” In a twinkle of an eye, I had become 12 years old.

“Honey, what do you have to be thankful for this fine Thanksgiving?”

I glanced down to see a wet camouflage sleeve. It was Christmas Day and I was hunched over chewing a piece of jerky.

There was a noise in the jungle. I quickly looked around and found myself nervously holding a beautiful young girl’s hand. “I do.”

Out of the corner of my eye, a calendar appeared, January 1.

I reached in my pocket for the ring; I retrieved instead a brightly painted egg.

Beside me stood a young lassie and her brother both giggling. “That isn’t a fair hiding place, Daddy,” they spoke in unison. Was it possibly Easter?

The time warp I was caught in had become more than I could tolerate. I lowered myself into a near by lawn chair and turned to my wife.

“When did the children come?”

She answered a different question. “They are in their cars heading for the lake.”

I looked back at her once youthful face to find it now glowed with wisdom that comes from the raising of one’s children.

“After all, its Memorial Day,” she added.

With my head now reeling, I squinted into the noonday sun.

The smell of barbecue drew my attention. A young man was turning chickens on my grill. He wasn’t any older than I had been earlier. My daughter was now all grown up and standing by him holding what could only be described as an elephantine stomach.

She smiled, “Happy Fourth, Daddy.”

I gingerly stood and crossed my graying deck. I now moved much slower and each step was measured and precise. Something was terribly amiss. Time had been allowed to run rampant.

I found a seat and then heard a scream. I turned to see what was making this infernal racket.

A young woman sat down beside me. She could have been my wife’s mirror image minutes before at the altar. She laid her arm around my shoulder and kissed my cheek.

“What’s that confounded wailing?”

“That’s your great Grandson, Papaw. How is your Labor Day?”

I stared over her shoulder and witnessed the first signs of fall. I cried silently, “I really am ready to come home, Father.”

Then from the rustling leaves of the soon sleeping trees came the words I had so longed for.

“My son I sent for you as you began your prayer.”


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One Comment on “Calendar Of My Life”

  1. Brooke McCoy Says:

    i love this! so beautiful!! i really enjoyed it—

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