Never Too Late

Husband’s parents took their kids on awesome trips throughout childhood.

I once told Husband, “The McNay kids got to go to Disneyland when I was only beginning to hear about it on TV.” He asked, “So? What’s your point?”

After his mother died, Husband found reels of movies at his dad’s house.  “These home movies show us at various places around the country from Washington State to Florida, from the west coast to the east coast. Of course, these were because Dad had to travel with his job. It wasn’t as fun as it may look.”

Was he bragging or complaining?

I’ve often thought their family developed structure and cohesion on those trips, and they learned a great deal, too. Husband isn’t unconvinced by that comment.

“That’s a bunch of B.S.,” he tells me, only he doesn’t use the initials.

Earlier he had told me, “Mom and Dad would travel by car at night with us four kids in the back seat. Mom filled the floor of the backseat with pillows and told us to put our heads on the pillows and our feet up in the back window. Sleep made the drives more doable, especially for a child with ADHD.”

I’ve heard dozens of stories about their adventures, mostly ones that focus on Husband’s mother and her funny escapades.

Father-in-law received the credit for paying for trips and for exerting discipline.

From our earliest days together, Husband complained much about his dad and how he felt his dad basically rejected him.

However,  five years ago, when Father-in-law was told he would die in a matter of months, Husband and I were the ones who made faithful trips to see him and his wife every evening. Husband genuinely wanted to spend time with them and lift their spirits.

During one of the visits, Husband asked his sister to join use, and the two of them began talking about their antics growing up in the same house and neighborhood all their lives. They told their dad of adventures about which he had no previous knowledge.

The McNay kids had reputations.

 “Remember Bertha who lived across the street? She was always blaming us for the things her next-door neighbor’s kids did,” said Husband’s sister.

Husband added, “Even after I married,” began Husband. “Atha’s mom invited her to Thanksgiving Dinner, and she proceeded to tell me what ruffians we were.”

He continued, “I told her that she was so old, she’d lost her memory. I reminded her that her problems were with Deloris’ kids.”

 “Of course we did do a few things that weren’t right,” said Husband.

“Yep,” agreed his sister. “Like the time I was mad at our brother for getting me into trouble with the folks. He came to me and asked if the bright green shirt he had on matched the shade of brown in his pants. They looked terrible together, so I told him he looked great. He was on his way for a date with Theresa.”

We all laughed, thinking of how color-blind he truly is.

“What happened?” asked Father-in-law.

“He was back in about twenty minutes to change his clothes. He pointed his finger at me and called me an asshole. I guess she didn’t like his choices.”

At first, Father-in-law’s mouth flew open. Then, the three of them began to laugh. They laughed until they cried. Even the sick Father-in-law guffawed.

The reminiscence went on for hours. Later, I asked Husband if he ever thanked Father-in-law for all he’d done for them.

“Never have,” was the reply. But the day came when Stepmother phoned for our help.

Father-in-law sat on the sofa with his head down, eyes closed, not talking or moving. She said he had been that way most of the day.

As we waited for an ambulance, Husband sat next to him patting his shoulders.

“Dad, do you remember a few weeks ago when we talked about all the adventures you made possible for us as kids?”

Father-in-law slowly nodded his head.

“Well, I guess I never did say this, but thank you for all you did.”

Father-in-law jerked up his head and looked with amazement at Husband. It was if he was trying to see the alien who had taken over Husband’s body.

Then he relaxed. “We had some good times, didn’t we?”