Subtle Message, Profound Love

Lately my father and I are learning how to communicate again, particularly connecting through new interests and a new appreciation of each other's experiences.

He's taken up photography, and now occasionally when we're in the car I find myself reminding him to "stop getting distracted by pretty sunsets!"



But inside, I'm excited to see him so excited about the sweeping colors and fading rays, to see him so aware of it all. The last time we were driving into a gorgeous sunset, the kind fit for heroes, and he whooped and hollered at how fantastic it was.

And then he sort of glanced at me, silent and slightly foreboding, as though to ask why in the heck I, as the only free-handed passenger, hadn't taken out a camera yet. So I did my best to capture what I could. On the highway. At 60 miles per hour. For Dad.

Then there's a strange shift that's been taking place, where I've begun talking to each of my parents - married over 31 years now, God bless 'em - about relationships. I've always had a good rapport with my mother, and ending a conversation between us always proves far greater a challenge than beginning one. But this is the first time I can really say I've been bonding with my father over something more serious than photography, crêpes, and Sleepless in Seattle (all fine in their own right, of course), and I'm really enjoying it.

My respect for my dad and his marriage knows no bounds. And although he doesn't always say it directly, I think he in turn has come to appreciate my boyfriend and our long-term, long-distance relationship.

Thus begins my tale.


Several years ago, before my boyfriend and I were dating, we went trick-or-treating. He was a frightening ghoulish figure who blamed his new appearance on the local water. I was a Serta sheep, i.e. an obsolete counting sheep looking for work. I brought a canister to collect for Unicef, but because I was sporting an "Out of Work" sign, people mistook me for a hobo and my collection had mixed results.

Just the same, the Great Halloween Endeavor of the Benefactor Sheep (long-time friend of Santa and the Easter Beagle) not only raised a little money for a cause, but also left me with a jar and slotted lid.

So I have a sheep bank now.

I've had piggy banks before - namely a plastic one I painted and glittered at a friend's party in elementary school, and a giant Crayola crayon bank. And probably others that I remember less vividly because, let's face it, little competes with a glittered pig and a two-foot crayon.

But I like the sound of a sheep bank, and I've begun saving change in mine.



And I've decided that it's only fitting that it go toward transportation to visit with my boyfriend. Besides being busy with school and work, we're both pennysavers and have gone anywhere between 3 months and one year between visits since the move. But instead of dwelling on the idea that we are putting off a trip, I'd rather have a visual representation of progress toward one. So I've labeled it Florida or Bust.

All that said, I wasn't keeping dollar bills in the jar, figuring I would simply collect change for now and could make up the difference when the time came. But recently, when I dropped a coin in, I did a classic doubletake. Where was that familiar chink of metallic collision? I opened the lid... and laughed.

My father had stopped in that week. There had been all of about a minute that I left him alone in the room, and little did I know that, while he was loudly reading off the titles on my shelf, he was stealthily slipping a few wrinkled dollar bills into my sheep bank.

Sometimes people show their love and support for us in the simplest ways.

One of my favorite quotes is (debatably) attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: "Preach the Gospel always. When necessary, use words." My father is no preacher, but I think in his own way he has already begun to put "Francis'" concept into practice.

Thank you, Dad.