My Hero With the Feathers

Today a memory of my Father surfaced. This happens every so often like the sun breaking through on a rainy day. Out of nowhere something someone says or does triggers me to remember something about my Dad. Today as I was driving I suddenly remembered a field trip I went on. I think it was 4th grade. My Father chaperoned a field trip. I had a crush on Matt Sullivan at the time and the girls in my class were split into 2 groups, the one's who liked Larry Johnson and the one's who liked Matt, I liked Matt and wanted him on my team for the field trip desperately. My Dad was always the best chance I had to be popular in school since all the kids suddenly became my best friend once they heard their was an upcoming field trip that my Dad would be attending. His reputation exceeded him. He once convinced a bus full of children to sing 100 bottle of Beer on the wall from Boston in traffic hour. The kids loved him, the teachers.... well I bet they felt differently! Anyway on this particular day I believe we were at old Sturbridge village or somewhere similar. They were selling these feathers that were attached to clips. Every on my "team" was buying them and I can remember my father asking me if I wanted some of these feathers. I said "no" and he said "are you sure" and I said "yes I am sure." We continued on and at the end of the day we all met back at the busses. As we were boarding the bus I noticed not only was my team wearing feathers it seemed everyone INCLUDING Matt Sullivan was wearing feathers. They were hanging from girls head bands and hair elastics and boys baseball caps and shirts. With only one more group expected back to the bus I remember turning to my Dad and telling him I wanted those feathers. Without a second thought he was up and out of the bus hustling by foot back to the gift shop. I remember being afraid the last group would return and the bus would try to leave without my father. I wished I had just got the feathers in the first place and wished even more that I could just fit in and not care if I had the feathers but I wanted them. Just as the last group climbed the stairs to the bus so did my very winded father carrying a bag with my special clip feathers. My father would have gone to the end of the earth me that day and any other day of his life.


When I recalled this story today I lived in its memory. My phone rang and I did not answer it. I did not turn the radio on and hoped my baby would not wake up as the street lights turned red. I recalled the memory and took in every detail, I relived there long enough to remember my dad's smile as he returned to the bus and winked at me as he handed me the bag. I uncovered two feathers form their wrapping, an orange one and a purple one. I lived there long enough to remember what it felt like to have a father. I lived there long enough to remember how much I loved him and how much he loved me. Yes, I stayed in that memory until I drained every bit of its detail and still then did not have enough of my hero.