Hearts

Does anyone else remember Valentine’s Day, 1986?  It was practically a no-go.  The forecast had called for inches of that sloppy wet snow that leaves East Tennessee roads covered in ice and stores ravaged by Knoxvillians hungry for bread, milk, and eggs.   

      School had been canceled in anticipation of this event, and I was as disappointed as a 7-year-old could be.  Valentine’s Day was my second favorite holiday, right behind Halloween.  Both days were poor kid-friendly because they featured free food and a spirit of escape. 

       A fair amount of my Beaumont classmates lived in public housing.  So did we.  I knew I wasn’t going to be the only one disappointed by the cancellation of heart-shaped cookies and scented Moonbeam pencils.  Our party wouldn’t be rescheduled.  Valentine’s Day was on Friday that year, and there was no way our teacher would let us drag it out for 3 more days. 

      Mama was home with us, and Daddy had taken the bus to work as usual.  It always seemed to me that adults got the short end of the stick when it came to inclement weather.  More often than not, school was closed when it snowed, and work was not.

      Early in the afternoon, I heard Mama hang up the phone in the living room.

      “That was your daddy on the phone,” she said. “They’re closing the radio station because the snow is getting worse.”  I was relieved, because I wanted Daddy home safely, and I knew he was usually game for letting my sister Rebekah and I draw with his colored pencils and markers.  A cozy afternoon spent drawing with Daddy did sound nice.

     The phone rang again about an hour later.  My ears pricked up when I didn’t hear the usual fiery Arkansan cadence in Mama’s speech.  Usually she spoke so quickly she could singe a hole into the phone.  After a minute she replaced the receiver and came into the kitchen. 

     "Girls, let's pray for Daddy. He just called to tell me they canceled the buses because some of them have wrecked on the ice.  He's going to have to walk home."

     My heart sank into my stomach.  I knew it was several miles from the radio station to our apartment, and that it was dangerous to walk home on slippery sidewalks.

       I knew that each day Daddy wore a freshly ironed shirt and pair of pants from his small collection of clothing, and that each morning he put on the same pair of polished, thinly-soled dress shoes.

        I also knew that there was a hole in the bottom of one of those shoes.

       Rebekah and I went back to our playing, but I kept an eye on the clock.  I prayed that God would keep Daddy safe from falling on the snow and ice, and I prayed that Jesus would keep Daddy safe from any bad guys on the walk home. After 2 hours without any other word from him, I noticed that Mama’s face had developed a worried, pinched look.  I knew she was thinking about those shoes, too.          

      “Heather, you and Bekah help me get some stuff together for Daddy.  He’ll be cold when he gets home.”

       We approached our tasks with the thoroughness of surgeons.  Mama filled our Club spaghetti pot with warm water for Daddy’s feet.  I gathered towels to help dry him, and Rebekah dragged the bedspread from our room.  She added her Blanky for extra warmth. 

     Finally, as the sky began to lose its light, Daddy shuffled onto the front porch and into the house.  Mama pulled him over to the chair and we sprung into action.  Mama stripped off his wet shoes and socks and put his ice cold feet into the water, and Bekah and I each took one of his hands and rubbed vigorously, trying to warm them.  His hair was also wet from the snow, which had soaked through his hood.

      “Pooh Bear, take his coat,” said Mama.  “It’s dripping on the chair.”

       Daddy took off his coat and gave it to me.  I opened the closet door.  As I slipped the first shoulder of the coat onto a hanger, I noticed part of a paper bag sticking out of the top of the coat’s inner pocket.

      “Daddy, what’s this?”

      “Well, look inside,” he said.

       Inside the bag were 3 red envelopes, one addressed to Mama, one to me, one to Sissy.

       I opened mine right away and saw the valentine Daddy had chosen special for me.  It was shiny with bright foil hearts.  I heard Bekah giggling over her Garfield card.  Mama was crying over hers and kissing her husband’s rosy face.

      Oddly, the card itself was warm.

      “Daddy,” I asked, “why is my card warm?”

       "Because I kept it close to my heart on the way home, Heather Pooh.”

       And so he had, from Gay Street to Summit Hill to Central, left on 5th, past the Old Gray, up to Elm, straight on Beaumont, right to his three best girls.