A FIST FULL OF CAKE. Pt. II

Fast forward a couple years and all the cousins, in-laws and out-laws gathered at a local church for our annual family reunion. My Aunt Nita had been hosting the event for years, (and had done a remarkable job of it, I might say). And since my Aunt Jean happened to be turning 80 that year, her younger sister decided to make it a duel celebration of it.

 I have no recollection of the occurrence, but mama sometimes spoke about daddy having done something out of character …even for him. (And believe me, he was a character). 

I happen to have a collection of photographs which were distributed shortly after that 2011 reunion. Thus, I briefly paused from this writing to check my facts. And in short order I ran across the evidence. 

A picture cannot lie. It speaks volumes. My father is seated on one side of the table, my Aunt Jean on the other. Between the two siblings rests a multi-colored, triple-tiered, uncut cake …with a fist-sized wound in its side. Aunt Jean and a few nearby relatives convey no apparent shock or disgust on or about their countenances; as if they have decided to keep their persuasions to themselves.

Then there was another bit of evidence which should have caused things to be painfully obvious. 

For you see, on such and such a day my mother left for Georgia to visit with her sisters. While she had asked my dad to go with her, he’d declined the invitation, and assured her he would be ‘fine and dandy,’ (thank you). Well, against her better judgment she took the trip without him. Against her better judgment since daddy had not so much as boiled an egg or grilled a hamburger in a couple decades. 


As a result, mama left instructions with my sister in law to give my father a call once or twice a day for the duration.

True to her word, Sharon phoned my father on the Saturday after the Friday my mother left for Georgia. Receiving no answer, my brother, Wayne and she jumped into their car and drove the half hour’s distance which separated their house from his. Upon arriving they discovered my dad on the carport and seated in a lawn chair. Of course, they found this scenario a bit unusual, as it was a summer day, as he had never been prone to sit in front of his house; (but rather, in the swing by the lake). 

The dutiful daughter in law immediately asked my father ‘what was going on.’ To which he responded that he’d locked himself out of the house. While the simple act of locking himself out of his home did not necessarily ‘raise a red flag,’ for the husband and wife, my father having failed to knock on a neighbor’s door, and made a request for assistance, but rather, choosing to sit alone on the carport …did.

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