Father - Bud Pfohl

Sometimes I make believe there’s a father there, a man I can go to who has answers to my questions and if not answers a willingness to listen. This wasn’t something I missed until I recognized my son was taking advantage of having a father to ask questions of. He doesn’t ask the sort of questions I’d ask, but that’s likely the result of having always had someone to ask.

I tuck my questions away. Sometimes I write them down and they answer themselves, but generally I file them with a wish that I could ask them out loud. I was lucky after my father died in that I had men in my life who took on many of his roles, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask the sort of questions I always wanted to ask: if she likes me, why does she ignore me?, If I like her how come it hurts in the pit of my stomach?, She’s afraid she’s pregnant, what should I do? These are questions I would never have asked my father, but because he wasn’t there, I always thought how much better it would be if he was and I could ask him these questions.

Actually I probably asked my dad as many questions after he died as I did when he was alive; probably more. I used to lay awake in bed after he died and long after I’d stopped saying prayers, and I’d pray these questions to my dad. I could make up the answers just like I used to make up the answers to my childhood prayers.

I remember childhood prayers, every night kneeling beside my brother, our mom standing behind us and praying that God would keep my soul if I dies. I did it, but it frightened me. I know that prayer like I know the Little League Pledge: Now I lay me down to sleep, I trust in God, I love my country and will respect its laws, I pray the lord my soul to keep, I will play fair and strive to win, If I should die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take, but win or lose I will always do my best.

My mom said if we said our prayers each night we could ask God for special favors, she called them blessings. Out loud I asked for my grandma and my grandpa to be OK and for the war in Viet Nam to end, but there was a silent voice, as loud as my spoken voice, that asked for hits at my next baseball game and for Denise Myers to smile at me during recess tomorrow.