I RESERVE THE RIGHT

I RESERVE THE RIGHT


James Dramick sat beside his father Oscar’s bed reading to him his favorite book, The Tale of Two Cities. As James read, his mind wandered back to his childhood when his father would read him his favorite book, until he fell asleep. Sometimes he would not be asleep, but would pretend, so his father would turn off the light and leave the room. On those occasions, he would turn on his flashlight, and read the book himself.

Oscar Dramick, once a tall, barrel chest man, now lay in his hospital bed at the Weeping Willow Retirement Home. At seventy-one, and suffering from lung cancer, he barely resembled the man that James had always loved and respected all of his life. The man who lay in bed now, was only a fragile shell of the man he once was. He could no longer stop a locomotive like Superman. He wasn't faster than the Flash on his best day. He could no longer play catch or even watched neighborhood games. Now, he was even unable to carry on a lively debate, just for fun.

This man beside him was nearing his end and he knew it. With his skin having lost its fullness, hung slack about his face and frame. The body of this construction worker, father and husband, now lay wasting away as skin and bones. This man once full of life and energy now clung to life through tubes that ran in and out of his body.

“Failing. Even the machines are giving up.” James thought as he noticed he had stopped reading aloud.

Finding his place in the chapter, James resumed reading, as he had done every evening after work, from six to 7:30 p.m., for the last 12 weeks. James, at 48 years, had worked for the same construction company his father had retired from after 45 years. Oscar, had developed and upheld an impeccable reputation and work ethic, but, nonetheless, when he retired, given a pension, and a gold watch. What Oscar treasured most, was his old friends. All hard men like him. Rather, like he used to be. Most of them were now gone.

“Jimmy Boy.” Came a soft and feeble voice from the bed. James stopped reading and looked up from the book. His father turned his head and was speaking without opening his eyes.

“Yeah Dad.” James said respectfully to his father.
“Your mother…, Oscar struggled for air, which, he had to do after every few words.
..…Came to see me last night.” James said nothing. He thought his father was losing his mind. His mother had been dead for twelve years. Oscar continued, still struggling, he said with difficulty. “I still talk to her …, he wheezed, but she seldom answers me.”



.

“Jimmy, she was standing…” another breath, “beside my bed”. James remained silent. He was afraid of what he would hear next.

“She told me my time was short and to tell you that, I was sorry.” Having taken only two breaths through the whole sentence, he fell silent and struggled to breath.

James thought quietly for a minute then said, “Dad, you have nothing to apologize for. You haven’t done anything wrong to me.”

Oscar opened his eyes and fixed them on his son. The two men stared at each other for a minute. Then Oscar spoke, “I heard you, playing the piano…. two summers ago. I was returning some tools to your shed. When I went into your back…. yard, the sliding door… was open. I thought you, Angie and the kids were gone…. you were there and playing so beautifully.”

It took Oscar a while to get everything out he wanted to say. James waited, kept quiet and listened. He did not know his father was not aware he had continued to play. His father had called him a sissy.

“You need to learn a trade. Something dependable. Something you can raise a family on. Nothing but little sissy boys sit and play pianos. They act like girls. You're not a girl, are you?” The scar still seeped. That was just one of the many scars left by the comments of his father. The only thing he ever wanted was for his father to be proud of him.

With the hope of gaining his fathers respect, he became a construction worker after graduating high school. He accepted his plight, but did not love it, as his father had. For an escape, he continued to play the piano. James could always find a place to play, sometimes at the home of friends, other times at the empty church. Still, he played. Looking at his father he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you liked my music?”

Oscar lay on his back looking at the shadows as they slowly crept across the room. His thoughts now inward and in retrospect asked himself, “If I had encouraged him to play, instead of trying to make him a master of construction, what would he be now? Would he have been happier? Would I be lying here uncertain about where I will go when my sun goes down?”

To James he said, “How can the finished product be so strong when, I was the weak part of the foundation?”



James was speechless. He could not believe his ears. Was his father telling him for the first time in his life, that he was the weak link in the marriage between him and his mother?


His Dad, until his sickness, had always played the part of being the immovable mountain. Is he telling me that he’s proud of me? Where is all this coming from?

“Dad, you are not perfect, none of us are. But, you are my imperfect Dad ,and…
Oscar held up one shaky index finger, a couple of inches off the sheet. This was his way of saying, stop talking .back when he was in good health. James, having learned in childhood the meaning of his fathers raised finger; fell silent.

“I am getting weaker, shut up… and… listen. All my life…. I insisted on being right even when I knew I was wrong….Oscar managed to inhale air into his lungs, he continued. Everything had to go my way, I thought. Well, I was…. Wrong ..Especially…. about you. You are a good construction worker and you know how to run a good crew. But, I think you would have made…. one hell of…. a piano player. You still have time Son. Now go play. Play for me and your mama.’’

Tears started to run from the corners of Oscars eyes; he did not notice. James sat stone silent and speechless. He could not believe his father just gave him permission to play. His father just told him he was good at what he did and gave him permission to be happy. To do what he loved. Before he could speak, Oscar spoke again.

“Go home son and play. I will be able to hear it. Now go.” With nothing more to say , Oscar turned his head toward the window and closed his eyes.

James, knowing his fathers’ ways, sat, for another few minutes. He then stood and walked to the door. As he opened the door, his father spoke again.

“Jimmy.” Said Oscar.
James stopped and half turned. He answered, “Yes Dad.”

“I love you son but, I do reserve the right… to be wrong. I’m only… human.”

For reasons James could not explain he said, “You are my hero Daddy, Good night.” and closed the door. All the way to the car and then driving on the freeway, he wondered why he had called him Daddy. And why, he had never told his Dad that, he was indeed his hero. He was a long ways from fifteen-year-old boy now. And he could see that he had made many mistakes. Feeling a need to talk to his dad again, James took the next exit. At the end of the ramp, while waiting to make a left turn, his cell phone rang.


With an uneasy sense of knowing, James answered.

From the phone came a female voice. Soft and calm she said, “Is this Mr. Dramick?
“Yes.”
“Mr. Dramick, I know you just left the Weeping Willow, however, you need to come back.


James was looking straight ahead and he didn’t see the light change, or hear the horns blow behind him.

“Mr. Dramick, I’m sorry to have to tell you. Your father just passed away.”
James looked up at the changed light; he knew he had received fatherly instructions before he left his Dad's room.

Finally, he spoke to the woman still holding on the phone line. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours. I have to go home and apologize to my son.”

When the light changed to green, James drove through the intersection and back onto the Freeway. He knew now, that, he too, had the right to be wrong. Yet, he also knew he had the ability to change it. Knowing the value of his fathers advice, he knew his first stop, had to be at home.

He knew his father understood.