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Enter into the Kingdom by the Blood of the Lamb |
I returned home from “the war” just after Independence Day, 1970. I didn't expect bands or celebrations of any sort, but I certainly didn't expect to find a note written in my dad's hand on my old bunk either. The note explained that he and mom would be coming back from a Hoe Down in Eureka Sunday night. “And oh, by the way, could I cook them up one of my favorite recipes from the old days?” It was hotter than the surface of the sun in the valley that Wednesday I arrived home. Now it looked like I had four days to get a few things settled. Family reunions could wait. I walked the old homestead for a few hours that afternoon rehearsing in my mind my assault on the academic world. I had always been a good learner, but I had lacked the desire to excel. I found that desire somewhere in Southeast Asia. I wasn't going to be a pastor, but that didn't mean I couldn't be a teacher. A teacher was what I would be. No. Wait. A teacher with a red Firebird convertible. That's what I was going to be. A teacher with a red Firebird convertible would be very cool. The Firebird part of my plan was easy. I found a used '67 in pretty good condition on a small lot in Laytonville. My neighbor worked in the lumber mill there and gave me a ride to the lot. The dealer was asking too much, but with a few trinkets and souvenirs from the war and a lot of begging I got his price into the narrow range my budget could handle. On Friday I enrolled for the fall semester at a college south of my home town; shopped my home town like a tourist, and went about preparing for my parent's homecoming. The greetings from my parents when they came home Sunday were most cordial with happy hellos and a handshake. We settled into a nice meal of Lasagna, salad and French bread topped off with apple pie and ice cream. I was cordially complimented on my culinary skill. Cordially complimented on my health. Cordially awarded praise for my choice in a fine American made automobile. (My brother was the scourge of the family for buying a Volkswagen.) My heart swelled with the warmth of hearth and home. Who needs the joys of being a son, when a person can be the head chef for some strangers from another planet who admire great America cuisine from Italy. My mother looked at my dad throughout our quiet dinner. A crucial moment in mom's conscience finally materialized. “Didn't Walt and Judy look wonderful at the dance last night dear?” “You remember Walt and Judy don't you?” I felt my mother's eyes on me and was a bit surprised. She hardly ever looked directly at me. I could not even remember if she looked at me in our last conversation when I said, “good bye. I'm going to the war now.” “Walt's the real estate agent you met when you were home last,” my father said. “Their son went into the Navy about the same time...well you know, the same time you went into the Army.” It seemed mom's voice was losing some strength, though as I looked at her face I could sense she was trying to express some joy. “Anyway son,” dad continued, “Walt found a beautiful piece of property just above Ashland, and it was the perfect place to build our retirement home.” “We didn't think you would mind,” my mother smiled and pushed a pudgy hand towards mine, “so your dad and I thought why not use some of the funds you were sending home. So there. We've bought a bit of heaven and you have helped us do it.” Every month for the 36 months I had spent in the Army I had sent home a $25 savings bond. As instructed by the military each bond was purchased in my name and in my father's name in case I wasn't able to return. Either of us could sign for the money at maturity or cash out the bond immediately and forfeit the bond's full value. Dad left the table for a moment and returned with a photo album. “Here are some of the pictures of the property.” “It really is a beautiful spot, and it is the perfect place to build a home or put one of those new mobile homes on.” “We put our camping trailer up there for now,” my dad said pointing to the picture of it tucked into a massive stand of fir trees. “How much?” I finally managed to ask. “We had to come up with $700 for the down payment,” mom said. “So we used all but six of the bonds you were sending home,” my dad said, apparently wanting a pat on the back for his amazing financial management skills. One of my great failings at school was in the area of mathematics. Economics was another. But it didn't take me long to figure out that instead of living in a nice dorm at college I would be sleeping in my Firebird and getting a job. “Now I know what you're thinking son,” my dad continued, “but we had to move fast. The price of real estate has been going through the roof and we have to be prepared for our future.” Our future. Actually I was thinking, and I don't know why, I was thinking of a night. It was a night I spent out in the boonies of Viet Nam with an infantry patrol because company "C", during the serving of their dinner came under fire and the UH 1 “Huey” Gunship that was to be my ride back to base camp could not come back to pick up a lowly cook for fear of being shot down. I was thinking how on that particular day it was 110 degrees in the shade and there was no shade, and how I had dressed in the lightest uniform I could get away with. I was thinking about how on that night a squall came in from the north and within minutes I was drenched. I was thinking about how I shivered in a shallow sandy hole all night long while the GI next to me kept muttering, “They're out there. You see 'em? I tell you they're out there.” I was thinking about how much my gut was knotted up with so much rage for being left behind. For having to deal with my cowardice; to deal with all of my nightmares of being blown to bits and never knowing what life would be like with the perfect girl, job and home. And what would it be like for my soul after my death? Would I meet God in his glorious Kingdom in Heaven or be sent to the fires of hell with all my faults and iniquity for eternity. I'm pretty sure dad had no idea what I was thinking. A shiver went through my body as I looked at my dad and smiled. He would never know the devastation he had just unleashed in my soul. I wouldn't say. I wouldn't show. I just smiled. My mom watched my reaction to dad's explanation. Her cheeks swelled up with her best chipmunk impression satisfied that I was taking it well. She switched on her “have-I-got-deal-for-you” face and pursed her lips making her words sharp enough to pierce armor. “You have a wonderful skill now. It's what you wanted to be before you left home. I mean that's what you wanted right? A way to make a good living. And you know what we found out last night?” mom looked at dad to make sure he was in the monologue. “Judy said her brother's restaurant is looking for a cook. Its at their lodge in Regina Heights. And guess what? The job comes with room and board. It's perfect. I mean its exactly what you hoped for right?” “Walt is suppose to get back to me tomorrow,” my dad added. “He said all they needed to do was set up an appointment for you to go and see...what was his name, Lil?” “Brandon. Brandon Wilkes.” I wasn't completely sure but I felt that I was complete with everything to do with family. At least for one evening. “Well it sounds like it is all working out the way its suppose to,” I said. "Would anyone like some more pie or ice cream?” “This was really a superb dinner son,” my dad said. “You've really developed your gift. Lil?” “I'll have a bit more ice cream.”   ~Kenword~  |
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