Every Sunday he'd drive up to the front of the church and drop off his kids and his wife. He always insisted that they attend. Then he'd drive over to the Tim Horton's or some days to the Lee Hotel if he could convince them to open the taps. He was always late picking them all up afterwards.
One Christmas he drove up and dumped the kids out, but this time French just stood on the curb and looked in the passenger door window. French's dad looked back at him, he looked back at his son and eventually I could see him sigh. He parked the car around the corner, and then walked back to the church. He was wearing jogging pants, and a leather jacket over his Montreal Expos t-shirt.
French's dad came to that service and sang every carol. I've never seen them all look happier.
5 comments:
What a blessing for those kids and everyone else who saw it. I love that the Lord doesn't give a rip what we wear. Merry Christmas, Friend.
Great post. My dad isn't doing too well. His body is giving out. So dad's are cool, for all time.
Such a moving story! You are an expert at saying so much with so few words.
oh! it is that moment of them staring and then the sigh. what parents might do, might sacrifice, for their children! and what rewards they might garner!
happy holidays to you, ollie.
xo
erin
you are such a gifted storyteller ollie. that sigh spoke volumes...
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