The Steps

Few things seem to last. You know this is true once you buy a house. If you are a homeowner you know all too well how quickly you can begin to feel that the house you bought, the place where you plan to plant roots, make memories and live until someone plots your move to some facility where prune jello and warm milk are the soup of the day is nothing more than a place to shovel whatever money you might, or might not, have. Some days this is truly how I feel, despite all the good things that home buying brings.

I suppose this feeling deepens when I realize I am no handyman. It's the house exterior or the dishwasher or the toilet or the yard or the carpet or the heating system or dozens of other things that sooner or later bend, break, give up or die. There are some things I can handle without much problem but other things tend to crop up that baffle me, other things appear that terrorize me and still other things emerge that seem to live to taunt me in regards to the upkeep of a house. Top my ineptitude off with the fact that spending money to fix the problem gets thrown in the equation and you have a recipe for certain indigestion.

Ultimately, things have to be fixed despite my own incompetence and my own frugality.

A few months back, Jennifer almost took a tumble down our front steps. Well, okay, tumble sounds dramatic and life-threatening. I suppose if I were part of the news media these days, I would choose the word “tumble” to describe the fact that the front part of the bottom step, two inches from the ground, finally gave way. The step and it’s co-horts had been beginning to fade for some time prior to this fateful day. My attempts at nailing the boards back down and praying and hoping that my effort in preserving those steps a little longer would be enough to be make it all better came to a grinding stop that day. So, I began to ponder what I should do regarding the steps. And for a few weeks our front steps stood damaged but still usable.

As I pondered, Mom and Dad came to town. Before the day was over the steps were almost replaced totally with Dad taking charge of the project at hand. As we worked our way through the task the thought came into my head that I might have been able to have done this job by myself after all. Maybe. Maybe not. I’m glad I didn’t attempt it though. I would have missed the time I spent with Dad. Yes, maybe I could have replaced the steps without his help but I would have missed the teamwork, the jokes, the little hints here and there about how to tackle and defeat such a chore. I would have missed the little things I see in him that I sometimes see reflected in me, the slow yet steady pace that drives some people crazy, the slight hesitation before pounding a nail into the wood just so you can measure one last time how close to hold the nail without placing your fingers in too much danger and even something as simple as recognizing the sound I make when I clear my throat sounds just like him when he clears his throat.

Today marks my Dad’s birthday. As I grow older I find myself continually amazed at how he quietly serves as the rock of our family. I stand in wonder as stray dogs and cats follow him around as if he were a long lost friend. I smile remembering the nicknames he gave every grandchild. I marvel at how his great-grandchildren always want to be near him, how they reach out their arms for him when their eyes lock in on him from across the room. I nervously chuckle at his stubbornness because that is an inherited trait that hits a little close to home. I smile thinking about times watching him laugh so hard he could barely catch his breath and thinking how I always want to be able to remember that happy moment. I am touched knowing how he looks after Mom as her health slowly becomes a battle they will have to wage together. I am amazed that he still plants and tends a garden every summer. I am terrified knowing his eyesight is not what it once was and worry what will happen if it fades away more than what it already has. Today, I am glad we built a set of steps together.

There are so many memories I could relate at this moment. Some things though I like to hold near and hang on to a little longer. I do wonder though if one day in the future, way, way, way in the future, if I will be sitting on the front porch of this very house, where my roots are now planted and where new memories are being made, waiting for some folks in some medical coats to come to carry me down the road to a new residence. And as they tell me about the shuffleboard games and the tantalizing evening meal of strained carrots and unsweetened tea that await me I can imagine interrupting them to tell them to take it easy as they haul me down the steps because me and my Dad built them a long time ago. And we built them to last.

Happy birthday, Dad. And many, many more.