Crow’s Feet Writing Prompt #60
Pockets of Time
Little bits of time when I got to know my dad
My dad was a quiet man. He didn’t like crowds or loud spaces. I have no memory of him ever causing a ruckus or a fuss, even though he’d said he was quite the troublemaker in his youth.
At family gatherings, he’d drift outside for a cigarette whenever he felt overwhelmed. Otherwise, he’d stick to the edges of the room and engage with only one person at a time.
This made getting to know him hard.
I never wanted to shatter his peace, so I wouldn’t follow him outside. But I did manage to carve a pocket of time one year, a little space where just my dad and I could chat: by doing the dishes.
I had a hard time at one family gathering, likely due to my “neurospiciness,” — my brain not operating in the traditional manner— making me feel depressed even though things were going well, and I retreated to the kitchen where I could gather myself. My dad came in and asked if there was anything he could do.
“Keep me company,” I’d said and started washing the dishes.
He grabbed a towel to dry them and our routine was born. Whether his house or mine, we’d slip into the kitchen and do the dishes together.
