by
Claude Travis VanHoose
It seemed to Pete that his Daddy didn't love him. Pete was only eight, but he already knew without a doubt what love was. He felt love every morning when his mother woke him for school and fixed him a breakfast that would hold him through the day.
He felt love when he came home from school and his mother helped him with his homework. Sometimes when they finished early, they played games. Some evenings they did arts and crafts, and on others they played cards.
He felt love when he crawled into bed and his mother sat next to him and reminded him to say his prayers, though he never ever forgot to say them. Then she'd tighten his sheets and pull them up to his chin, and make him snug as a bug in a rug.
Pete knew love. He saw it in his mother's eyes, felt it in her touch, and heard it with his ears when she spoke to him. But he didn't feel love from his Daddy. He was nearly convinced that his father did not love him in the least.
His father worked all day and drank all night, so they shared very little father and son quality time. When his father yelled at him for leaving toys on the floor or not taking out the trash, Pete didn't mind. At least it proved that his father knew his son existed.
Sometimes when his father drank, he became angry and violent, and hit Pete's mother, and at times, Pete himself. Often his mother purposely drew his father's anger toward herself, so he'd strike her and not Pete. This showed Pete how much his mother loved him.
When the fighting began, Pete would hide under his bed and listen. Soon he'd begin to pray just to drown out the screaming and banging -- Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. He would repeat this prayer over and over again to ease and comfort his mind.
On the weekend Pete liked to ride his bike around the neighborhood. He'd see fathers and sons playing "catch" in their back yards; he saw a father and son putting together a go-cart. He watched as the father and son laughed together, even hugged.
When at night he took his bath, Pete often looked at the bruises and scratches on his chest, arms and legs. Then he'd wonder if his Daddy loved him at all. He never saw these types of bruises on the other boys. He wished and prayed that he had a Daddy that loved him, too.
One night during an unusually loud argument, he heard his mother say something to his drunken father about lipstick and a shirt collar. When the screaming became unbearable, he hid once more under the bed and began to pray.
The next night Pete's father didn't come home after work. Worried, his mother called family and friends, but no one knew where his father was. His mother was upset, but she also seemed to be at ease. Pete figured she was relieved, knowing that night she wouldn't be beat.
Days soon turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and still there was no sign of Pete's father, as though he'd vanished off the face of the earth. By this time all of Pete's and his mother's bruises and scratches had healed and disappeared, and mother and son were as happy as could be. Pete had never seen his mother smile so much.
Father's Day arrived and Pete felt excited. He loved Holidays that were set aside to express love for friends and family. His favorite time of year had always been Mother's Day. He'd make cards and pick flowers and present them to his mother. At those times she always cried and held him close to her chest.
"Mommy, can we go up to Harper Hill tomorrow?" Pete asked his mother over a breakfast of pancakes and bacon.
Pete's mother stopped reading the morning newspaper, and looked at him. Harper Hill was where her father had been buried two years ago. She knew that her son and her father had been very close.
"Do you want to go to Harper Hill because of "Father's Day?" she asked, fighting the quiver in her voice from tears gathering in her eyes.
"Yes, Mommy," Pete answered. "I want to go see grandfather." He finished the last of the bacon on his plate.
"Of course we can go there, Pete. And we'll bring some flowers." She returned to reading the paper, hiding behind it, so he wouldn't see the tears spilling from her eyes.
The next day as they pulled up to Harper Hill, Pete's mother regarded her son. She'd noticed how quiet he had been during the trip. She parked the car at the foot of the Hill. Pete held two handmade cards in his small hands. At first she had thought it was only one card.
She opened the vehicle's door and stepped out, then reached back in and withdrew the bouquet of flowers she had bought earlier at the supermarket.
The cemetery was at the top of the hill. In Kentucky hilltop cemeteries were common. Mother and son quietly made their way up and entered.
"How sad," Pete thought when he saw that most of the headstones were overgrown with weeds and no flower wreaths or bouquets adorned a single grave.
"You can go first, mommy," Pete said. He let go of his mother's hand and nodded for her to visit her daddy's grave.
She nodded in agreement and moved through the tall grass, making her way to her father's grave.
Pete followed her and when they had reached his grandfather's headstone waited a few paces behind. He watched his mother's lips move silently and wondered what she was saying as she visited with her daddy. He shuffled his feet and looked at the two cards in his hands and smiled.
When she returned to his side ten minutes later, tears were in her eyes.
"Your turn, Pete." She smiled at her son and gave him a soft hug.
"I'll be right back," Pete assured her. He drew close to his grandfather's grave and knelt down. He took the card he'd made from red construction paper and placed it on the ground next to his mother's bouquet of flowers. "Here, Grandpa. I made you this card. I just wanted to come here today and say I love you. I want to thank you for always loving me and Mommy."
He placed the second card he'd made from yellow construction paper under the red one. "You'll know what to do with this," he said. He stood up, turned and returned to his mother's side.
The following day Pete's mother left him with a sitter for a few hours and drove back to Harper Hill. She had wondered the whole night why her son had made two cards and placed them on her father's grave. She did not want to embarrass him by asking him, so she decided to go back to the cemetery and find out for herself.
She made her way up the hill and knelt down at her father's grave. Luckily Pete's cards had not blown away during the night and remained stacked one on top of the other. She picked up the red card. On the front it read: TO GRANDPA. She opened it and read:
Grandpa,
Me and Mommy miss you a lot. Hope you are having fun in Heaven. Kiss Grandma for me. Happy Father's Day.
LOVE, PETE.
She replaced the card lovingly and picked up the yellow one. On the front her son had written, TO GOD. Pete's mother wiped the tears that had gathered in her eyes and opened the card to see what her son had written to the Lord.
DEAR GOD,
Thank you for watching over me and Mommy. Thank you for keeping us safe and letting the bruises go away. Thank you for being my Daddy.
LOVE, PETE.
Tears freely streaming down her cheeks, she put back the card and raised her gaze to the clouds above, certain that somewhere up there, Father God was smiling down at her.
Copyright 2001
by Claude Travis VanHoose
