the men in my life

I have watched the anticipation build.
Marty was about to go out of his mind, and it was showing in the way he talked, the way he moved, in his art.
Dad was about to go out of his mind. But only a few of us could tell. I could see it in his eyes.... oh, how very much he needs this.
And then in the eyes of Granddad. In the gentle one (the one who feels like he can only dream of leaving. And, oh does he dream. He's more like my dad in that way.) I could see a little melancholy. A little bit of the bittersweet, "what-might-have-been".

I pulled up as the two brothers finished packing the Pathfinder. Marty bounced around like his black lab, Arie. Did he forget anything? Underwear, check. Videocamera, check. No, he was good and ready. Dad gently slid his fishing pole (fly fishing rod actually) into the back of the truck and smiled at me. His happy smile.

Good and ready.

We went down to Grandmom and Granddad's before the "boys" left. (It only seems appropriate to call them boys. If only you could have seen the light in their blue eyes.) As she hugged them goodbye, I thought Grandmom was going to cry. Silly woman. They'll only be gone for a week. No need to cry.

I walked into the kitchen. He stood there, eating a sandwich (he looked a little sheepish too--as if he had every intention of shoving ham into his mouth and never mentioning it to anyone). "I wish I could go with you," I said. "Baby, I wish you could go with me too." He said this with his head in the refridgerator. Luckily, he couldn't see that I was tearing up (damn genetics).

I hugged Marty. Be safe, I told him. I want both of them back with all their limbs and eyeballs and toes. Don't be careful, though.

Being careful never got anyone anywhere.

I looked at my grandfather and told him, in all seriousness, "you know... if you ran down there and waved your arms and told those boys to take you with them... they'd haul you along. Gladly." I looked him square in the eye. And I saw it again. He pretended to bolt for the door. "Next time," he said. No one ever really mentions Joe leaving Betty. Not for a week. Not for forever. "I gotta stay and mow the grass."

I'd gladly mow the grass if it meant I could see him smile.

So Marty and Dad hugged us goodbye and I tried not to cry again. (Let me offer an explanation here: I was not crying because he was leaving. He'll be back again next Saturday night. I was crying because I couldn't go too. Because I wanted to share that joy with my dad. Because I wanted to stand under that big, overwhelming sky with two of the best men in my life. Oh, crap. Hey Dad, I know you're reading this. I forgot to tell you to make sure you come home. )

I want these two men back a little worse for wear. Exposed to a little sun (not too much, wear your sunscreen, do you hear me?). A little windblown. I want muscles to be sore and lungs full of some heady cigar smoke. I want bellies full of fish.

But make sure you come home, Dad.