What Parents Have To Do With It

On holidays I hear from Paul, who’s 80 if a day, who may have won his war on poverty without help from his friends. He won’t accept a cent. When he calls, he talks about the poor, what he says they must do to get through life. This time, though, Paul, a bachelor, wants to talk about love, what parents have to do with it. He says the only physical sign of love his parents offered was his mother’s hand on his cheek. She never said a thing but as a child her touch nurtured him. Tears would fill her eyes followed by a rare smile. No hugs or kisses but he never had to wonder why. She had substance if not style. Near the end of life Paul would like to feel her touch once more, says love between parent and child is as perfect as love can be. Forty years ago Paul buried his father who told him just once, no more, after a six pack that he loved him. He says his father worked two jobs eight hours each, that said it all. I listen to Paul whenever he calls, agree with him when I can, stay silent when I can’t because I know his scars run deeper than mine. I’d never tell him my parents were icicles compared with his but they too worked just as hard for me. Donal Mahoney