I was listening to a John Gorka song a song about how if he could he would take a train back in time, with a sandwich and a picture of his girl. He’d go back in time to see his dad and find all the words he didn’t have.

I think I would write a song about “how I wish you’d known him then”, All the things my dad did, how there was so much good in him, even if he didn’t know how to be in the world most of the time.

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He was the kind of man you would have liked,
A man you could call your friend
Loyal as the day is long
Often hummed a tuneless song

(like Big Rock Candy Mountain and THe Happy Wanderer and Darktown Strutter’s Ball)

Wish I could tell you,
How I wish you’d known him then

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Tonight my dad did something he hasn’t done since I was a child. He held my hand. Only this time it was me leading him, not the other way around. He put his hand on my shoulder as I led him to the bathroom in the restaurant. I worried he would fall while he was in there, wished I could go in with him. I worried he’d fall and hit his head, because his balance is bad and he’s fallen before. Mostly at home, but still. I saw him fall flat out on a pebbled concrete floor at the Subaru dealer once. He was still pretty agile those days but he tried to catch a water bottle that hadn’t quite made it into the garbage can. Flat out. And yelling when I tried to help him get up. Embarrassed.

Tonight he didn’t argue when I suggested that he put his hand on my shoulder in the dark restaurant. We walked slowly, navigating chairs and barging teenagers who were there for a pre-prom dinner. (What is it about being 16 years old that makes you unaware that an old person clearly should not have to give YOU the right of way? When a grown woman is leading an elderly man and she looks you right in the eye and says “excuse us”, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!)

Anyway, my dad didn’t fall, didn’t wet down the front of himself, didn’t forget to wash and dry his hands. Hand-to-shoulder we walked back to the front of the restaurant. My mom brought the car around and it was between the restaurant and the care that my dad just took my hand when I offered it. Simple. NO argument, no “God damn it, I can do this myself!” He walked at my side, trusting me to guide him around the hazards: watch the door sill; watch the planting strip to your right.

I made sure he didn’t bump his head on the frame of the car, and he sat down with a whump. My mom hugged the Cajun and told him thanks for being so patient, for listening to my dad go on and on about the same five stories all through dinner.

There’s more to tell about my brother and my mom and me laughing hysterically because my brother was at his end of the table, imitating my dad: “Did I tell the story about me? Well, it was 1954, and there was me, me and me. I needed help, and then of course I jumped right in there, and by God I got that all taken care of, and I thanked myself, and if I didn’t tell you about it, I did a damn fine job and made sure I told myself about the damn fine job I did”.

I about peed myself. It was a good night. And thanks to the Cajun for being so understanding.