We all have done hurt to wives, friends, or relatives and I am no exception! Most of the unkind things I have done have receded to a dark corner of my memory, not igniting concerns of conscience. One disgraceful act, however, returns to send waves of shame through me. It concerns my father. And he didn't deserve what I did to him one rainy New York day! My father and I were not really very close. And aside from a few lickings from his belt when I misbehaved, he wasn't abusive. But he remains on the fringes of my memory, as I imagine will be my fate with my children as they grow older and my physical presence fades into a hazy past! I see an old photo of my dad standing in a bathing suit at Atlantic City beach. I don't remember that trip, but I must have been there also. I also recall an outing with my dad where he taught me to skeet shoot at clay pigeons. Despite few fresh memories, I know my father loved me. Each Christmas he surprised me with great gifts--a new bicycle, a Flexible Flyer sled, and, one year, a large pool table! So what I did to my father, who had turned blind later in life, cannot be excused as teenager rebellion. I was reluctantly leading him to visit his friend when some argument flared up and I abruptly left him stranded alone in the rain on that city street! The memory of that shameful act, still haunts me. What makes it even more an unbearable sin is the fact that he died when I was in the service--old enough to realize the hurt I had done and old enough to ask his forgiveness. I regret I never had the chance to say to him, "I'm sorry, Dad, and I do love you!"
