To my Papa: Happy 70th Birthday

When they tell the story, they cushion it with the knowledge that little tiny children all go through phases where they favor one parent over the other. Toddlers skip back and forth, unabashedly playing favorites between Papa and Mama. That's what little kids do. But I remember it different.

When he came home at night, it was as if all the terrifying noises in the world followed him. It began with the low rumbling of his car in the garage - a sound that started in the pit of your belly then crawled up your back and into your ears. This rumbling was followed the clap of thunder that was the garage door shutting. And then the thwomp! thwomp! thwomp! of his feet on the floor. Next, a crescendo blast of his booming voice and clattering keys. By then, teensy two-year-old me was quivering with fear. What could possibly make that much noise? I'd think, shivering at Mama's ankles. And then the next thing I knew, I'd be drowning in the shadow of That Loud Man, enormous and grinning, who, with grasping hands and a roaring laugh was reaching down to pick me up and EAT ME. So I'd run screaming to my bedroom and slam the door.

That was how I greeted my father at the end of his day, night after night, for weeks.

I can only begin to imagine how crushing it must be to come home after a long day, so happy to see your baby girl, and when you try to pick her up she bursts into tears and runs off. I know it hurt my father because he says so when he tells the story. "Oh!" He says, clasping his hand over his heart, throwing his head back and grimacing. "It just broke my heart!" And then he laughs because by now it's a funny story. Then my mother will chime in, "We both knew children go through this phase. But it was devastating, nonetheless."

I don't know how he got the idea, if someone suggested it or if he thought it up all on his own. But what he did next might have been the most brilliant maneuver any man has ever made in trying to win over the girl of his heart.

On his way home from work one night, my father stopped in at the local Salvation Army. He picked his way through the dusty racks, collecting a basketful of bright, silken scarves and shimmering costume jewels, wide-brimmed hats and lace fans. And then he found the greatest treasure of all treasures: a pair of scarlet snakeskin pumps.

I remember the night this happened. I remember the rumbling of his car in the garage, the crashing of the door. I remember leaving my doll on the floor and running to hide behind Mama's legs. I remember the door creaking open, his footsteps on the floor. But on this night, the footsteps didn't crash or thwomp. They were softer, subtle. And I didn't hear his booming voice. I didn't hear anything. Mama said hello and then there was quiet. She looked down at me and smiled. What's going on? I wondered. Then I heard a twinkling, a tiny silver jingling, that was his keys on the marble table. And then a rustling, a crinkling, the most wonderful shrinkiling sound I'd ever heard. What is that wonderful sound? I was very curious. I was so curious, I didn't realize I'd left the safety of my mother's shadow. I was so curious, I didn't realize I'd padded all the way out of the kitchen. I didn't notice my knuckles white, gripping the edge of the door, or the strain of my neck as I craned to peek without being seen. All I knew was that I had to know what in the world was making those wonderful sounds. Those crinkling, rustling, murmuring sounds.

It was That Loud Man, not being loud at all. Instead, with his back to me, crouched on the entryway floor, slowly, whisperingly, he drew the most beautiful things from a brown paper bag. I crept closer. Closer. I could smell his cologne. It smelled warm and nice. Comforting. I crept closer. He didn't look at me. He didn't talk. His arm swayed softly as a scarf billowed from his hand. I crept closer. Something glittered as it dropped onto the heap of treasures. I crept closer.

I can imagine the feeling: For weeks your child has run screaming rather than endure your affection, and now, suddenly, she's placed her tiny hand on your knee to keep her balance, and you can feel her hot little breath on your elbow. You can smell the baby-smell of her hair and you can practically hear it when she blinks her saucer-eyes.

If he had the urge to sweep me up and toss me in the air for a hearty Hello, he hid it well. By the time the scarlet shoes came out of the bag, I was trembling with anticipation. Those shoes were the most captivating, stunning objects I had ever seen in my entire, long, two-year-old life.

"Would you like to try these on?" He asked, gently. I nodded my head, eyes wide with wonder. He placed the shoes on the floor so that I could step into them. My hand still on his knee, I lifted one foot, and nearly lost my balance.

"Would you like me to hold your hands while you step into your shoes?"

I looked up at him. He was very handsome. I nodded yes. He held out one giant paw. I gave him both of my hands. Both of my hands fit in his palm. With his help I stepped into the shoes. My heart nearly beat out of my chest. They were the most beautiful shoes I had ever seen in my life. I was wearing the most beautiful shoes in the world.

"What gorgeous shoes!" He grinned. I grinned. "Would you like to dance with me?"

My eyes went even wider. I nodded so fast my head almost popped off. He stood slowly, stooped so that I could keep a hand in his, and we walked to the living room, my handsome Papa and me.

The next night, when I heard that rumbling car, I left my doll on the floor and went running. By the time the twinkling keys hit the marble top, I was standing by the door, a scarf thrown casually around my neck, wearing my red shoes.

"Papa? Dance with me in the liffink room?"