David

I never really loved my father in law.
I loved his daughter, as did he.
This topped the short list of our common interests.

David was a truck driver
He listened to warbly southern gospel
Ate grits
And put meat gravy on his pancakes.
Flags mounted on his Suburban like some hillbilly diplomat.
Perking up his ears at every "yee-haw"
Born and raised in the great southern state
Of New Jersey.

The only man I've known to say "humbug" and mean it,
David regularly expressed disapproval with an half-syllable sentence
"E'h!"
Again, and again
"E'h!"
He disapproved of many things.
The majority of which involved others telling him not to push himself, with all of his health issues.
I never cared for that noise.

He had never finished high school
And fumbled with words
But began devouring books in his 60s.
David read slowly, but patiently paged through thick biographies of our early presidents.
He admired John Adams, and held John Quincy in high regard.
He was sure it was my fault that his daughter stopped voting republican.
She was a social worker.
I had nothing to do with it.

I tried hard, at first,
Before meeting the parents,
Studied the rules of pinochle, his game of choice, to impress him.
I'd never played but spent days
Cramming strategy guides, only to find he played by "family rules."
It was different,
The strategies useless.
We played every time he visited, and he usually won.
If I was lucky, he would wear his teeth during the game.

Shaking his head when I tried to explain my fantasy football team,
Because that's not how football's supposed to be played,
This man had the nerve to sit in my house, on my couch,
Routing for his Giants to beat my Pats in the Superbowl,
Which, they did.
He wore that championship cap so proudly.
That cap, his large belt buckles, and grungy, sleveless flannel shirts,
Grease under his fingernails and his calloused palms
He made me ashamed of my own hands,
Soft and weak

I gave up trying.
I could identify with neither his gruffness, nor his affection.
He cuddled his grandbabies for as long as they'd let him,
Gave loud, smacking kisses.
The sound grated on me.
At our wedding, he kissed his daughter more than I did.
I cringed each time.
It seemed there was something wrong with that,
But she didn't mind.
He knew the importance of faith and family.
He said "humbug" at Christmas
Not because of the holiday
But because of what we'd done to it.
It wasn't about the presents.
And it took me far too long to see where his heart was.

A lifelong trucker and utilitarian packrat,
David knew to keep things that might one day be useful to someone.
He kept everything.
He never had much,
But would always try to give what he could.
Even the filthy sleveless flannel shirt off his back
To anyone desperate enough to ask for it.
Had our first daughter been a son,
We planned to name the boy after David's father.
When we told him, he cried.
He adored our daughter just the same.

When his heart went bad, he took school bus routes
And started rummaging through our recycling bin when he visited.
David saved bags of tabs from soda cans for a little girl on his bus.
She collected them to trade in for her aunt's dialysis.
He was proud when he could make her smile

Too stubborn to let illness get the better of him, David started walking.
Through dizzy spells and headaches, he navigated country roads at all hours,
Building stamina, losing weight.
The doctor told him he had the heart of a much younger man.

They say he fell down.
Out for a walk, for his health,
A decade after the bypass
He was healthier than ever.
They thought perhaps he slipped
Tripped somehow
This man who climbed broken ladders one-handed
Took risks I would never dare without a second thought
And came out unscathed every time.
They said he fell down.

They didn't know him.
Were they even at the scene?
On a flat stretch of country road.
He just
Fell
Hit the back of his head that hard.
We never got to say goodbye.
Never said the things I should have said
Made amends. Asked forgiveness.

He would have loved our baby girl.
She's a snuggler, unlike her big sister.
Her middle name is Quin.
Short for Quincy.
After her Pop Pop's daddy
And our sixth President.
I give her loud, smacking kisses.
It makes her smile.

I never really loved my father in law
Not like I should have.
I will try to be a good father to her.
Teach her the values of faith and family.
David would be pleased with that.
And somehow, she knows him.
She is stubborn like her grandfather.
Just before I cut her umbilical cord,
Gripping scissors with my own soft hands,
Preparing to separate her forever from her first home,
She expressed her disapproval.
Her first sound was "E'h!"