My Father

Written by B. L. Jilek, 13 Aug. 2003

My parents divorced when I was very young. I don't remember my age. I lived with my mother and visited my father once a month and one month during the summer. I always looked forward to visiting him. My father was not the smartest man and only had a high school education, so he was limited to mostly manual labor working on farms and factories. He had to work hard to make ends meet and would take me to work with him when I was visiting. I did not mind. In fact, it was like going to Disney Land when he would take me to the ranch he worked on during this period. There were cows, goats, horses, and lots of cats. I loved every minute of it, but mostly I just liked being in the presence of my father.

On this particular visit he woke me up around four in the morning to get some breakfast. It was the typical bacon, eggs and toast. Breakfast always tasted better when it was early in the morning with my father sitting across the table from me in his usual silence. We didn't talk much. It seemed to me, however, that we communicated in silence. He always seemed to know what I wanted or needed and would communicate his wants with a glance or tilt of his head. And I always knew when I disappointed him. I hated to disappoint my father. He almost never had to punish me because it would kill me if I knew he was angry at me

We went about the day as usual, in silent understanding of each other. I was happy to be near him, comforted by his strength and tirelessness. I was the typical little boy trying to keep up with his father's long, purposeful strides. I thought he was perfect and never did anything wrong. I tried to be the same. Looking back, I think that I thought that he would not pick me up for visits any more if I didn't match his perfection and hard work.

On this particular day he was taking the tractor with a trailer, loaded with hay, to a distant field to feed the cattle. We had to follow a long narrow dirt track that ran along a barbed wire fence. I was sitting on his knee, enjoying the cool morning breeze and watching the sunrise in the distance. “Take the wheel, Son,” he said to me. I looked up at him in surprise but quickly grabbed hold of the big steering wheel of the tractor before I missed my chance. It was awesome! I was at the controls of a huge, noisy machine and I could control it. I gave it a few test turns. Not too much so I didn't stray off the track. I was a little nervous at first but after negotiating a few curves I relaxed and let the feeling of controlling such a big machine flow over me. The deep vibrations of the massive diesel engine traveled through the steering wheel, shaking my small arms. I imagined plowing fields and pulling up tree stumps. I imagined all my friends, cheering, very impressed with my abilities as a tractor driver. I was on top of the world.

Suddenly, the steering wheel was yanked from my hands. Startled, I quickly realized what had happened. I had been day dreaming so thoroughly that I had let the tractor stray off the track. The right front tire had started breaking off fence posts and wrapping up barbed wire. By the time my father had grabbed the wheel and yanked it left and brought the big machine to a halt, I had destroyed 50 yards of fence. All the posts were broken off at ground level and the wire had wrapped up around the front axle.

I looked at my father and saw what I feared. Anger! I was devastated. He helped me to the ground and I moved out of the way and sat on the ground with my cheeks in my hands. I watched him take wire cutters from the tool box on the tractor and start cutting the wire from the axle. I wanted to help fix what I had done but was afraid that he would get more angry. I just knew that after he was done he would take me home and I'd never be allowed to go to work with him again. He finished cutting all the wire away from the axle and turned to look at the hole in the fence line, wiping sweat from his forehead. Then he looked at me. As I looked back, fearing the worse, his anger seemed to melt from his face replaced with a crooked smile.

“Seems we both were day dreaming on that one,” he chuckled. He looked at me a little longer and turned to pick up the posts. I realized then that he was not angry at me. He had been angry at himself. He had made a mistake. The same mistake I had made. He was not perfect and didn't expect me to be either. I instantly felt better. Not only about the fence, but our whole relationship as father and son. I quickly jumped up to help him pick up the fence posts.

After returning to the farm house and picking up the needed material we returned and repaired the fence, together, in mutual silence. I was the happiest little boy there ever was.