THE NARRATIVE ARC
My Father Taught Me the Joy of Simple Pleasures
It doesn’t take much to have a fantastic day
My dad and I are standing on a crowded bus weaving its way through San Jose traffic. As the bus passes O’Connor Hospital, where I was born, my dad turns toward the window and salutes.
I’m mortified, as only an 11-year-old can be.
“Dad, stop it,” I hiss.
He knows this display of respect embarrasses me, but he needs to recognize the hospital that welcomed me into the world.
It’s a sweet gesture, but when you’re a preteen, everything your parents do has the potential to humiliate you, and this harmless gesture is doing an excellent job of just that.
I hope the other passengers don’t think my dad is a nut.
I roll my eyes, huff and puff, but secretly, I’m pleased. Since neither of my parents drove, they were always on the #24 bus. I’ll never know if my dad saluted when I wasn’t there, but I witnessed it enough to know it was not just a one-and-done.
My dad may not be overly effusive with his I love yous, but he shows his love in other ways, like a special afternoon out for the two of us.
