A FIST FULL OF CAKE. Pt. I

The year was 2008. My cousin and I had meticulously planned and executed an elaborate grave marking ceremony for our Scottish immigrant ancestor. I mean, it was something to behold. Well over a hundred family members and friends turned out. An honor guard of Georgia Sons of the American Revolution members dressed in their 18^th century uniforms. 

Bagpipers. The Pledge of Allegiance. The laying of wreaths. The playing of taps. Speeches. Poems and prayers. A new VA issued headstone. Even the television and movie personality, ‘Enos’ (of ‘The Dukes of Hazzard’ fame) who lived in the area and knew a couple of my cousins, made an unexpected appearance. 

As I recall now, it was about this time that my father slipped into a decline which ended with, …well, you know. Daddy was using a cane by this time, and wasn’t as ‘light on his feet’ as he’d been in recent years. But proud? Oh, he beamed from ear to ear that a son of his had organized such an outstanding ceremony for his great great grandfather Isham. When his name ‘came up’ in the schedule of events, he and another young relative planted American and 2^nd SC Regmt. flags on opposite sides of the headstone.

After the fact one is prone to reflect on the signs and symptoms and the various events and experiences which preceded it. Thus, the foregoing description of what must have been ‘the highlight of (my father’s) twilight.’

Within months of the ceremony, I think, my wife and I had driven over to my parent’s mobile home on the lake, and as usual, walked unannounced through the front door. And as usual, as we made our way into their lakeside living room, I found my dad dozing in his favorite recliner. As I had done many times before, I exclaimed,

“Wake up, Daddy. They’ll be plenty of time for sleeping.”

(No one ever accused me of subtlety). 

With this, my father roused himself from his afternoon nap, and I invited him to go peddling around the mobile home park; (since both he and my mother had seldom-used bicycles in their utility room). Daddy acquiesced, and we immediately strode to his carport and retrieved our two-wheeled conveyances. 

As we set out on our circuitous journey, my father seemed a bit unsteady, and suddenly, for no apparent reason he coasted off the street and into another tenant’s front yard, and it was all he could do to keep from falling. When I inquired about the incident, he brushed it off as not paying attention, and we continued peddling. However, by the time we finished our short trek, daddy had managed to coast into the grass again, (and yet again).


 By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 46. Copyright pending
 
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