Real Love

Valentine's Day is in two days. If you've not done so yet, make sure you go out and buy something special for the one you love. Two weeks from tomorrow, Feb 27, will the two year anniversary of my father's death. As we get ready to celebrate a day of love, here are some thoughts on my father's love.

I'll never forget the first time I realized how much my father loved me and how much he was willing to sacrifice for me. I was around eight years old. It didn't come in the form of a gift, a hug, or even in the words, "I love you." It didn't occur to me as some sweet "A-ha" when he came to my Little League baseball game. It happened across the street from our house, down at the shore. It was summer time. We walked down to the shore where our boat was moored. By the way, we call it "the landing" back home. We would always go down several times a week, just to check up on the boat - check the batteries, bail out any rain water, knock off some barnacles.

On this particular day, the tide was low. While my father worked on the boat and my little sister played on the shore, I walked around on the shoals that were exposed by the low tide. There was so much to do as I wandered along those microcosms of life. I'd find sand dollars and watch them bury themselves to get away from me. Sometimes a sea horse or even a baby sand shark would be stranded in a tidal pool. Most of the time I would dig up clams, look for conchs, or just sit around eating raw scallops.

On this day, I was playing around in one of those tidal pools when I raked my foot across a jackknife clam. It "slit my foot wide open", as we used to say. The water turned bright red in a hurry. I guess I gave one of those screams that every parent recognizes - the one that indicates REAL pain or trouble, not just frustration or anger. My dad jumped out of the boat and ran over to me.

To stop the bleeding, he pulled his shirt off and wrapped it around my foot. As he did so, I distinctly remember thinking, "Wow! He is using his shirt. He will never be able to wear this shirt again. He is willing to sacrifice this for me." That may not seem like a big deal, but to an eight year old kid, it was pretty big. Then, he threw me up on his shoulders and carried me home while my sister walked beside us.

I don't remember anything else that happened that day. I probably got rushed to the emergency room for my yearly tetanus shot. I got quite a few of those as a kid. But I'll never forget the feeling of my father's love, a shirt wrapped around my bleeding foot.

Interestingly, as I finished writing this story, I am reminded of another son who bled, but his father chose to watch because of the greater love he felt for us. Something to think about, isn't it.