Dad came to me the other day. He was in a rather frantic state...these days it doesn't seem to take much to get him there. I don't know if it's just his age or if it has more to do with losing my mother, the woman that was always there to make whatever was wrong right again for so many years....most of his life really. They were friends before Uncle Sam sent him away to World War II and they were married soon after he returned. He will be 90 in just a few months and most days he is completely with it...but on occasion he gets that far away look in his eyes and has a hard time putting his thoughts in order.
On this particular day he seemed very upset. "Oh I've really gone and done it now", he said. "What did you do, Dad?", I asked. "Well", he went on, "When I got home from the war the first thing I did was I went over and paid a visit to John the Barber over on Avenue U back in Brooklyn. I needed a shave and I needed to get a razor and a shaving brush. As I was sitting there getting my shave I asked John, he was a very good barber you know...if he could tell me what kind of brush I should buy. He told me that there were good brushes, which were the kind he bought for his shop...and there were not so good brushes that were pretty cheap. Those cheap brushes were a couple a dollars and the good ones cost about $55 bucks. Now in 1946 when the war ended, $55 dollars was a LOT of money...but I started thinking to myself....I just lived through World War II and I'm going to get myself that good shaving brush".
OK....none of this conversation was making any sense to me. What did the war and shaving brushes have to do with why my Father was so upset on this cold day in January 2015? We had family visiting, my son with his wife and 4 year old daughter...and the house was alive. As it is normally just my husband, Dad and I, the addition of a happy and energetic 4 year old playing with her two puppies brought things to a nearly chaotic level for us. And it was for this very reason that all of this came about. Before the great grandkids come Dad likes to go through the house and remove anything that he thinks might look tempting to little eyes and hands. Normally that means he moves valuable breakables up to higher levels....but in his far away state that he visits these days I guess he saw value in more unusual things. He went on to tell me that he had taken that shaving brush and put it away where great grandbabies wouldn't find because he worried that one may drop it into the toilet and create a plumbing bill...but now he just couldn't find it anywhere. Then he thought he remembered putting it into an empty toothpaste box. Immediately I ran to check the trash just as it dawned on me that the trash man picked it up about an hour prior to this conversation.
We turned the house upside down. We looked in every nook and cranny, every drawer, every cupboard, every box. When I went to bed that night I lay awake thinking of Dad's story and of all of the occasions of his life that put that brush into his hands. Suddenly it became clear to me that we had not lost a mere shaving brush that day, we had lost a priceless family heirloom that held the memories of all of our years. Certainly it would have held little to no value to anyone else...but wow, what it would have meant to have had that to hold long after Dad is no longer here to tell me his stories. As I thought about the depth of that loss I cried.
Days passed. We went down to Walgreen's to get a new brush that would do until we could get a better one. Dad said that the cheap one we found there would do just fine because he wouldn't be around another 68 years to get his money's worth out of a good one like he had the one he'd lost. He'd make due. I stood there looking at my Father...the man who had gone away to war, who bravely fought was wounded and went back to fight again in the Battle of the Bulge. This man who worked harder than any other man I have ever known. This man who devoted his life to my Mother and us kids. He was our Father, our provider, our protector, our teacher, our playmate. He was our navigator and guide...he was OUR hero. Make due? No, certainly I think that will not do, will not do at all. He deserves the very best that can be had. And so I started on my journey to learn about brushes...
As the weeks went by life got busy. The brush search was not forgotten but the final selection had not been made. This morning Dad visited that far away place again and napped away most of the afternoon. Tonight he came into the dining room with a big smile. "Do you remember the brush?". he asked. Remember it, how could I forget? My stomach had been doing somersaults over it for weeks and every time the thought of it entered my mind it brought with it the sting of tears. "Yes, of course!", I said. From behind his back he produced....THE BRUSH!!! His Made Rite USA, Sterilized and set in rubber, Pure Badger #64 with the Bakelite handle! "Where???", I asked. "Honey, you just won't believe it." he said with his eyes dancing. "I just walked into my bedroom and there it was just lying on the bed".
Now I know that the likely thing that had happened is that Dad revisited his hiding place and just doesn't remember...or maybe...just maybe...my Mother found a way to turn the wrong into a right....just...one...more...time...
On this particular day he seemed very upset. "Oh I've really gone and done it now", he said. "What did you do, Dad?", I asked. "Well", he went on, "When I got home from the war the first thing I did was I went over and paid a visit to John the Barber over on Avenue U back in Brooklyn. I needed a shave and I needed to get a razor and a shaving brush. As I was sitting there getting my shave I asked John, he was a very good barber you know...if he could tell me what kind of brush I should buy. He told me that there were good brushes, which were the kind he bought for his shop...and there were not so good brushes that were pretty cheap. Those cheap brushes were a couple a dollars and the good ones cost about $55 bucks. Now in 1946 when the war ended, $55 dollars was a LOT of money...but I started thinking to myself....I just lived through World War II and I'm going to get myself that good shaving brush".
OK....none of this conversation was making any sense to me. What did the war and shaving brushes have to do with why my Father was so upset on this cold day in January 2015? We had family visiting, my son with his wife and 4 year old daughter...and the house was alive. As it is normally just my husband, Dad and I, the addition of a happy and energetic 4 year old playing with her two puppies brought things to a nearly chaotic level for us. And it was for this very reason that all of this came about. Before the great grandkids come Dad likes to go through the house and remove anything that he thinks might look tempting to little eyes and hands. Normally that means he moves valuable breakables up to higher levels....but in his far away state that he visits these days I guess he saw value in more unusual things. He went on to tell me that he had taken that shaving brush and put it away where great grandbabies wouldn't find because he worried that one may drop it into the toilet and create a plumbing bill...but now he just couldn't find it anywhere. Then he thought he remembered putting it into an empty toothpaste box. Immediately I ran to check the trash just as it dawned on me that the trash man picked it up about an hour prior to this conversation.
We turned the house upside down. We looked in every nook and cranny, every drawer, every cupboard, every box. When I went to bed that night I lay awake thinking of Dad's story and of all of the occasions of his life that put that brush into his hands. Suddenly it became clear to me that we had not lost a mere shaving brush that day, we had lost a priceless family heirloom that held the memories of all of our years. Certainly it would have held little to no value to anyone else...but wow, what it would have meant to have had that to hold long after Dad is no longer here to tell me his stories. As I thought about the depth of that loss I cried.
Days passed. We went down to Walgreen's to get a new brush that would do until we could get a better one. Dad said that the cheap one we found there would do just fine because he wouldn't be around another 68 years to get his money's worth out of a good one like he had the one he'd lost. He'd make due. I stood there looking at my Father...the man who had gone away to war, who bravely fought was wounded and went back to fight again in the Battle of the Bulge. This man who worked harder than any other man I have ever known. This man who devoted his life to my Mother and us kids. He was our Father, our provider, our protector, our teacher, our playmate. He was our navigator and guide...he was OUR hero. Make due? No, certainly I think that will not do, will not do at all. He deserves the very best that can be had. And so I started on my journey to learn about brushes...
As the weeks went by life got busy. The brush search was not forgotten but the final selection had not been made. This morning Dad visited that far away place again and napped away most of the afternoon. Tonight he came into the dining room with a big smile. "Do you remember the brush?". he asked. Remember it, how could I forget? My stomach had been doing somersaults over it for weeks and every time the thought of it entered my mind it brought with it the sting of tears. "Yes, of course!", I said. From behind his back he produced....THE BRUSH!!! His Made Rite USA, Sterilized and set in rubber, Pure Badger #64 with the Bakelite handle! "Where???", I asked. "Honey, you just won't believe it." he said with his eyes dancing. "I just walked into my bedroom and there it was just lying on the bed".
Now I know that the likely thing that had happened is that Dad revisited his hiding place and just doesn't remember...or maybe...just maybe...my Mother found a way to turn the wrong into a right....just...one...more...time...
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