Cindy's Father

Years ago, when going out to eat on the other side of town was a rare treat, and when going for a drive in the country was something families did for the plain enjoyment of it, my brother and I used to ask our parents to drop in on friends on the drive back home.

Sitting in the back seat, more often bouncing in the back seat, we would beg and plead and sometimes succeed in getting them to drive over to some friend's house and knock on their door and visit for a while. Uninvited, as I remember it. (Those were different times.)

One of the places we loved to go was Cindy's house, which was really three houses in three different places over the years. Her parents and ours were good friends, and so were we kids when we were young.

Cindy had a clubhouse in her basement, which seemed to me just about the coolest toy a kid could ever have. Perhaps it is crass to measure love by a toy. But in the eyes of this child, a clubhouse of her own in the basement was all the proof I needed of how much her father and mother loved Cindy.

Cindy's father died today. It was the end of a long, difficult trial for them all. Cindy's little boy, Nicholas, lost his grandfather.

Nicolas was very fond of his grandfather, my mother told me today.

I remember Cindy's dad's voice and his smile, and (crass or not) I remember that clubhouse in their basement, and I am not surprised that Nicolas loved him.

He will be dearly missed.

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