Just like a man
Fri, 2015-10-30 05:00
News Staff
By Renae Brumbaugh
Last week, my dear mother asked me to help her find a box of pictures in her storage building. Now, I try to be a good daughter. I try to do as I’m told, and help out when I can. So of course I said yes, and traipsed out to the cute little barn-like structure, which is in the middle of a whole lot of acres of nothin’ but cedar.
Superman went along, as well, and soon we were moving aside meticulously organized years of memories and digging through carefully stacked bins in search of old photographs. And we certainly found photos — a lifetime of them. I enjoyed the dusty treasure hunt very much until another visitor showed up.
There I was, excavating through a box of old trophies and yearbooks, when I saw the most adorable little stuffed animal. He was so lifelike, with enormous, shiny-black eyes and plush gray-brown fur; I nearly grabbed him to see if he felt as soft as he looked.
That’s when the blasted thing lunged at me.
It was a mouse, y’all. As in, a living, breathing, disease-carrying rodent. And he jumped within two inches of my face.
Now, if you’ve known me any time at all, you know I don’t do mice.
Let me repeat.
I. Don’t. Do. Mice.
The shriek that followed broke the sound barrier, I’m quite sure, and still echoes in the universe somewhere. My throat is still sore. And I jumped so high, I nearly hit my head on the roof of the little building.
But apparently, forcing me into one near-death experience wasn’t enough. The nasty little creature landed, then circled back and came at me a second time. I screamed again and nearly fell over an old punch bowl and a vintage Simon game, when finally the vile little predator disappeared under a stack of Christmas decorations.
As if I hadn’t been through enough trauma, what with my almost-heart-attack-almost-stroke status, I realized I was being laughed at. By my husband.
That’s right. The one person in this world who is supposed to love and protect me at all costs was having a grand old time at my expense.
Just like a man. I’m not speaking to him for at least four more hours. Maybe five.
I miss my daddy. He would have protected me from that . . . that thing.
About that time, I spotted a couple of quilts I remembered from my childhood. Those beautiful quilts, out there for the rats to chew and turn into little mousey bachelor pads?
I think not.
I grabbed both quilts and shook them out, just in case. That’s when I noticed one of them — the pink one — had paint drippings all over it.
That was my baby blanket! And somebody along the way had used it as a drop cloth. And the sad thing is, I didn’t even have to ask who did it. I know exactly who it was.
My daddy.
My wonderful, sweet, kind, compassionate daddy, who swung me high in his arms and carried me on his shoulders. At some point in time, he was painting the house, and needed a drop cloth. And he saw that quilt, not as a priceless heirloom, but as a pile of scraps sewn together . . . as something I’d outgrown . . . as something that would be quite useful in the moment.
I’ve now washed that quilt and let it dry, but the paint drippings are permanent. But the longer I think about it, the more the whole situation makes me smile. Sure, I’d like to have that quilt in pristine condition. But at the end of the day, it was just a quilt. An object. The value lies not in the item itself, but in the memories it holds.
If there’s one thing I can say about my dad . . . he was full of kindness and compassion. He may not have taken care of heirloom baby quilts, but he took care of people. I’ve known many who are quick to place a value on an item’s worth, but who disregard the humans around them.
Not dad.
If he were here, I’d wring his neck for ruining my baby quilt. But then I’d hug him tight for working two and three jobs, to make sure our family had what we needed. For making time to help me learn to play softball and teach me to drive and take my brother hunting and cut the thorns off the backyard roses before giving them to my mom. I’d tell him thank you for cherishing us.
Just like a man. A great man.
“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” Micah