Day 114

When my son was three he really wanted a scooter. We couldn’t afford the one he wanted, but Dad could. As soon as he heard my son asking for it, he ordered it online. When it arrived at his house, my son was there and he was ecstatic. I’ve rarely seen him that excited. For years, it was one of his favorite toys. I have so many memories of him riding it — memories I wouldn’t have if Dad hadn’t been so generous. 

This morning, my spouse and I were cleaning out the garage. She picked up the scooter that my son has long since outgrown and wanted to throw it away. I gaped in horror. First of all, Dad bought it, and I am in no condition to get rid of anything that has any memories of Dad attached to it. Secondly, my son got so much pleasure out of it, I wanted to save it in case he has a child some day. My parents saved some of my favorite toys that they passed on to my son — toys he enjoyed. If my son has a child some day and I’m alive to know the kid, the scooter will bring back a rush of memories. It’s a small way to keep a bit of Dad alive. Maybe I’m too sentimental. I’ve been accused of that before. I have trouble throwing anything away if it can conjure even a slight happy memory. But we want to move, and my spouse sees it only as taking up space. We argued. She criticized me for getting too attached to things and then left. As she pulled out of the driveway, I cried holding the scooter and thinking about Dad — about happier times when he was still here and we could still be with him.

We had dentist appointments today — all three of us. We were supposed to go to the dentist back in May, but he shut his office due to the coronavirus. For two months, my son has been complaining about a toothache. He’s brought it up multiple times and when Mom heard him going on about how much pain he was in, she wanted to know why we didn’t take him to have it looked at. As if I had any control over the dentist’s office being open or closed. Anyway, I went into the room with him today and when the dentist asked him if he was in pain he said no. I looked at him, jaw dropping behind my mask, and said, “What?” He looked at me, then looked at the dentist and said, “Sometimes my jaw hurts, but not my teeth.” Grrrrrrrrrrr! The x-rays revealed that he was cavity free, but other marks indicate that he is possibly clenching his jaw, maybe grinding his teeth, which would explain the pain in his jaw.

When it was my turn, the dental hygienist started out being rather friendly. He made small talk asking how my summer was going. But then he started to complain that he can’t go to his friend’s restaurant for breakfast because it’s still closed for indoor dining and it’s too hot for him to sit outside. He said, “It doesn’t make sense. If it’s safe for some people to go to work, everyone should be allowed to work. I miss being able to go out to restaurants and bars.” I said nothing, gritting my teeth as he got the films ready for x-rays. I was there to have my teeth cleaned, not to get into a political argument. But then he took one step too many, “I think this virus has been exaggerated. It can’t be as bad as the news says. What do you think?” I bit my lip in an attempt to hold back the tears, “Well, my dad’s dead and my lungs are still recovering.” A long silence followed as he fiddled with his tools. But then, as he started taking the x-rays he commented about how small my mouth is. I have frequently been told I have a big mouth, both when it comes to my blatant honesty and my — pre-pandemic — voracious appetite but never have I been told my mouth is small. I guess he was trying to find something to say, something non-political, something less offensive. I’m not sure he succeeded.

When we got home, my son found my Red Recommended taekwondo belt sitting between the front doors. I was disappointed I missed my instructor when he dropped it off. I would have been nice to see him and say hello. But it’s wonderful to have earned my second pandemic belt. I am now four cycles (40 weeks barring any catastrophe, and face it, in 2020 anything is possible) away from being able to test for my black belt. After being stalled at blue for nearly two decades, it feels good to be moving forward. At time when sorrow is my closest companion, slight success — no matter how small — feels refreshing.

Also today, my essay, “Treasure Beach,” about Dad and my son was accepted for publication. When it’s published, I will be sure to share the link. It’s 7/7. 7+7=14. Dad died on the fourteenth day. Since Dad died, I have become hyper focused on numbers, something I never really paid much attention to before. I think this essay is one of best I’ve written, one of the strongest, but I’ll leave you to be the judge when you read it.

My son and I went for a short bike ride late this afternoon, once the sun wasn’t so high and the heat wasn’t too oppressive. We didn’t go far. We didn’t ride hard, but I came home breathing heavily. Proof, my lungs have not recovered. Deep breaths also aren’t as satisfying as they used to be. I wonder if I’ll ever be as I once was.

We finally finished reading Prince Caspian. It took far too long, but tonight my son admitted that he didn’t really care for it. I wasn’t surprised. We are going to halt reading C.S. Lewis until the fall. This summer — since we will be moving between states and getting as much vacation as possible  — we will focus on The Weeks Junior for bedtime reading.