A Man Named Dave by Dave Pelzer Page B

nothing about him. As long as I could remember, my visits with Father had probably amounted to less than ten, maybe twenty hours together, so now I wondered, had I been caught up over the last few years craving to love Dad, hoping he may love me in return? As a child, I so badly wanted to be with him, but watching Father’s body writhe as he struggled to breathe, I so desperately wanted to flee. Without warning tears began to swell in my eyes. “I, ah … I tried to write. I mean, I wrote … but I wasn’t sure of your address.” I shook my head, knowing I sounded like a complete idiot, but I stammered on. “I got your letter when I was stationed at the base in Colorado. I didn’t – I mean, I couldn’t find your address. I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t know. I would have come sooner. I just didn’t know.”
    I turned away to compose myself. The last thing I wanted was to lose it in front of my father. My focus had to be his needs rather than my sorrow. After a few minutes of silence, I remembered Steve’s advice about keeping Father uplifted. Out of nowhere, a memory of Father and me, when I was a preschooler, sprang from my mind. I sat on Father’s bed while tucking the sheet under his frail back. “You may not remember,” I began, “but when I was four, maybe five, all of us went to the Russian River … Early one evening, after dinner, you stepped out for a walk, and I tagged along behind you …” The more I spoke, the more that fragment of time crystallized. “I snuck out and walked behind you, tracing your steps. I had those little Forest Ranger boots, and I tried to keep up while being as quiet as I could. I think I made it five, maybe ten feet away from the cabin, when you heard me. You spun around so fast I thought you were going to bite my head off, but you –” I stopped for a second to smile at Father’s face. “You simply extended your giant hand and scooped my fingers into yours … Then, without a word, you let me walk with you.
    “I have to say, as a kid that was pretty cool. At the time, between Ron, Stan, and me, to be able to hog a few minutes alone with you, well, back then that was all I talked about after our walk. It was that summer when I knew that’s where I wanted to live. The trees, the river, the smell, those precious moments with you, that’s when I knew. Back then, with you, I was safe. Back then you were my superhero; you were my Superman. I know it sounds kinda dumb,” I scoffed, “but that was the only time you held my hand. When you wanted to be with me.”
    I stopped for a moment to close my eyes. As I did, my vision with Father faded away. I could feel my insides swell up. As a teenager in foster care, I couldn’t wait to become an adult so Father and I could work through our past. I had somehow hoped it would bring us closer together. I had no intention of making him upset or trying to use what happened to pin the blame on anyone. I simply thought if I had the answers, I would free myself from being doomed to repeat the tragedy of mindless hate and violence. Looking down at Father, I felt that Mother had deliberately manipulated this situation, calling me only after Father was unable to utter a single syllable.
    “When I was at The House, I remember all those times you’d come home from the fire station for just a few minutes to check in on me. Mother didn’t know it, but I made sure I timed your arrival when I was washing the dishes so I could actually see you. Sometimes I got too far behind with my chores and … well, you know Mother … I paid the price when you were gone. I knew she’d never allow you to go down to the basement, so I’d wash the dishes over and over until I heard you open the front door.” I paused to stare directly into Father’s eyes. “You saved me. Even though it was only for a few seconds alone in the kitchen, it made all the difference. Sometimes if you brushed against me, I’d breathe in your Old Spice cologne. You were my invisible force field. I’m just sorry you,