On Wading in Our Reduction
I called Uncle Fred just now, a few minutes ago.
“Hey Uncle Fred. This is Jimmy. You’re the closest thing to a father I have so I thought I’d wish you a happy Father’s Day.”
“Why thank you, Jimmy, that means a lot. I’m glad you feel that way.”
His voice breaks as I try to make the next bit hurt as little as possible, without a prayer of success. “I’m so sorry that we lost Aunt Patsy.”
“Thank you, Jimmy. It doesn’t make any sense. She was such a sweetheart. I could have never found another woman that good.”
“Is Joann or Cathy there with you?”
“Yes, they’re here. Jimmy, Patsy was the best person I knew and she’s gone and it don’t make no sense.”
“I hope you have a real good day, Uncle Fred.”
“Thank you, Jimmy—that means a lot.”
“I hope to see you before the year is out, sir.”
“That would be nice—I love you buddy…”
“I love you too. Take care.”
Patsy was the most intelligent women I have met who majored in English. She qualified for a university scholarship but the Dean told her that she’d never be able to find work in her field—that people didn’t care what women thought. I remember her telling me that she did enough so that she could work as a teacher and teach her own children, as, with Uncle Fred’s coaching job, they would be travelling a lot. Patsy gave me numerous writing tips when she found out what I was up to. She had eagerly offered to proofread my work when I was in desperate need for that kind of help. But she was such a sweetheart I couldn’t, with clear conscience, let her get caught up in the current of my dark inquires or darker fantasies.
Fred and Patsy raised a son and four daughters, who all have families across the nation. We were to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary this July 5.
Fred was the strongest man I knew of his generation. The smartest woman and the strongest man I knew had held a bond for longer than I shall hopefully live—for I don’t want to do well enough to end up in his current place.
“Thank you, Jimmy. It doesn’t make any sense. She was such a sweetheart. I could have never found another woman that good.”
“Is Joann or Cathy there with you?”
“Yes, they’re here. Jimmy, Patsy was the best person I knew and she’s gone and it don’t make no sense.”
“I hope you have a real good day, Uncle Fred.”
“Thank you, Jimmy—that means a lot.”
“I hope to see you before the year is out, sir.”
“That would be nice—I love you buddy…”
“I love you too. Take care.”
Patsy was the most intelligent women I have met who majored in English. She qualified for a university scholarship but the Dean told her that she’d never be able to find work in her field—that people didn’t care what women thought. I remember her telling me that she did enough so that she could work as a teacher and teach her own children, as, with Uncle Fred’s coaching job, they would be travelling a lot. Patsy gave me numerous writing tips when she found out what I was up to. She had eagerly offered to proofread my work when I was in desperate need for that kind of help. But she was such a sweetheart I couldn’t, with clear conscience, let her get caught up in the current of my dark inquires or darker fantasies.
Fred and Patsy raised a son and four daughters, who all have families across the nation. We were to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary this July 5.
Fred was the strongest man I knew of his generation. The smartest woman and the strongest man I knew had held a bond for longer than I shall hopefully live—for I don’t want to do well enough to end up in his current place.
(c) 2018 James LaFond
