Full Circle With Solomon
by P.K. Winterway
That’s what my Dad always said to me. At the campfire, at parent-teacher conferences, at the dinner table, while playing catch in the backyard, while we were fishing at the pond in Park Ridge, Illinois: he always said those words to me…. It all comes ‘full circle’.
At a young age, I didn’t fully grasp the meaning behind those words until I had reached a certain point, and even then it was a mere smidgen of an idea. It took a while to get to that ‘point’. But I guessed: better late than never.
I made it a bit closer to that ‘point’ as I was about to wave good-bye to my Dad. He was dressed in camouflage. I thought it looked cool. What wasn’t cool was the fact that he was walking away — walking away from me.
Mom and Dad did all they could to reassure me of the good stuff — homecomings, live feeds, Christmas presents, phone calls, prestige. Yes, my Dad is a freedom fighter, a world warrior, a patriot, a peacemaker. But he was also my father…. Above all things, I thought.
In the front yard, it was our last day of playing catch. I was ten. I knew what was coming. He hugged me hard. That’s how we hugged. I dealt with it. I tried not to cry. The sky was grey. Dismally grey. I thought it was odd, because the smile on his face and his blue eyes made me feel quite a bit different…
