The words “For My Children”, carved on an oaken wood
table, described Jacob Morningside perfectly. The widower, who had spent his
adult life putting his boys first, became bewildered at finding himself
discarded by them. At the age of 74, Jacob became frightened at being alone for
the first time in his life.
“Dad, we’re only thinking of
what’s best for you.” This patronizing statement came with a quick pat on the
back from his youngest, Steven. Jacob looked at him, unsure of what was happening.
Albert, his middle son, the
successful doctor in the family, backed up his brother. “Right, you don’t need
this big house after Steven’s wedding next week. He’ll be moving out, and
you’ll be alone.” Steven nodded his head, agreeing.
Finally, his eldest, Joseph,
ended the conversation abruptly, brooking no further discussion. “I have your
belongings packed and will store your furniture and other stuff at U-Store half
a block from your new place. I’ll send you the key to the storage unit after
I’m all done.”
Later in the day, Jacob
found himself moved from his home of almost 60 years. Looking around his small
room at the Sunnyside Convalescent Home, he tried to figure out what had happened
earlier in the day. He was in excellent health and in complete control of his
faculties. Yet, here he was under the care of doctors and nurses as if he was
at death’s door. He even needed permission to go for a walk outside, which
deeply upset this independent man.
When the key arrived, Jacob
walked to the U-Store complex where he found his belongings carelessly tossed
in. Ignoring the broken items, he walked to the one piece of furniture that was
priceless to him. It brought back so many good memories.
“Sweetheart, it’s a
beautiful table,” said Nancy, his adored wife and mother of his strong sons.
“You’re so smart to build it, but what’s this you’ve carved on the top?” She
leaned forward to read it while her husband glowed with pride at her
compliments. “For My Children! What a lovely
sentiment, Jacob.”
Standing there years later
looking at the old table, he slowly ran his hand over the inscription he had
placed there so lovingly. He thought back to the many noisy meals eaten at the
table. He also remembered those sad ones for weeks after his beloved
Eventually, the noise returned around the table, but
it was different somehow. The boys were moving on with their own lives. They
shared secrets their “old man” would not understand about girls, and sex, and
cars. One by one, they left for college, but came back to the old homestead
when finished. It was cheaper to live there when first starting out on their
career paths.
Joseph
was the first to leave permanently. When his accounting firm became a success,
it allowed him to marry. Soon, the table again had children dropping food on it
and kicking its carved legs. Jacob rarely saw his grandchildren now and knew
why. One day he had overheard his 3-year-old granddaughter say loudly to her
mother, “Granddad smells funny. He smells old.” Her mother had laughed, trying
to explain it was Ben-Gay for his sore legs. Sadly, Joseph’s two children refused
to come near their grandfather after that.
Following
years of study, while living frugally at home, Albert finally passed his
boards. He started his practice as a proctologist in a nearby town. His older
brother once joked, “It’s the perfect specialty for you. You are one and can
always examine yourself when business is slow.” Their father did not understand
what he meant by this, but Albert did and would not speak to Joseph for weeks.
Albert’s practice grew so much it made sense to buy a home closer to it,
leaving only Steven living at home.
Jacob pulled up one of the
unit’s packing boxes to the table and sat down, noticing for the first time how
old and shabby it looked. The inscription was hardly legible after years of
scrubbing it clean. The wood was in desperate need of varnishing again.
Eventually, he left the table with all its memories and returned to his lonely
room, finally resigned to his life there. Like the table, I’m old and no
longer needed, he sadly thought.
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