Today's story is one of the earliest I had published in Chicken Soup for the Soul books. This one appeared in a book that had Dads as the theme. It evolved from an incident that I witnessed--one that took hardly any time at all. Yet, as a bystander, what I saw touched my heart. Perhaps it will yours, too.
When you are stuck for story ideas, don't bypass the little incidents in life that you see. Many make really fine stories.
Squeals and Squeezes
I watched a toddler run on sturdy, chubby legs squealing as
he traversed the length of the country club lounge. A tall, good-looking man
strode purposefully behind him, closing in on his prey. He reached for the
runaway boy with a large hand and grasped nothing but air. The child had spied
a banquet table draped in a white linen skirt, and with lightning speed, he’d
lifted the cloth and scooted underneath, then turned eerily silent. He knew
this Hide-and-Seek game well, despite his young age.
The dad circled the table with one ear cocked, waiting for
his son to reveal his whereabouts. After two full circles, he leaned down,
picked up the cloth and peered underneath. The little boy giggled and squealed
as his daddy grabbed hold of him, scooped him into his arms and held him close.
The little boy pulled back and gazed straight into his daddy’s eyes. Not a word
was said but the child wound both arms around his daddy’s neck and squeezed,
then lay his blond head on the man’s broad shoulder.
The dad held the child close to his heart, kissed his cheek,
then stroked his hair as he carried him back to the gathering of families
nearby.
I felt privileged to watch these two, for I’d witnessed not
only a simple moment of a father and son at play. Instead, it proved to be a
scene that etched itself onto my heart, a forever memory. The daddy was a
member of an army attack battalion stationed at an army post near our town.
He’d served a tour in Iraq
and in a matter of weeks, he’d board a transport plane with his battalion and
return to the battlefield once again. But now, he and his family were attending
a recognition dinner at our country club. On this night, he wasn’t a soldier
wearing full body armor, clutching his rifle—on the alert for any strange movements
or sounds. Tonight he could be a daddy playing with a child he loved. He’d
already missed a full year of the boy’s growing up, and all too soon, he’d be
gone again. How much more would he miss? Who would play “Catch Me” with the boy
while he was gone?
Once he’s back in Iraq , the young soldier may lie in
his bunk at night, too weary to sleep. His thoughts will no doubt turn to home,
his wife, and his energetic, playful son. The
boy will be talking in sentences by the time this tour ends. And pretty soon
he’ll be old enough to play catch in the backyard. A boy needs a dad to get him
ready for his first baseball team.
I have a feeling this father will replay
the evening’s chase in his mind myriad times. More than a game; it was yet another
link in the bonding between father and son. The squeals and squeezes of both
translate easily into love a father has for a son in its purest form. I pray
that love survives the separation and renews itself with more squeals and
squeezes when the soldier daddy comes home again.
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