Chapter Ten in “Decades with the Squad” by my late father, William Palmer Jervey, Jr.
Blogger’s note: In filling in for my inconstant muse, I offer another story from my father’s book. This one, while ending happily, reminds me of a favorite quote, sort of a parent’s lament:
When they’re little they’re on your hands,
And when they’re big they’re on your heart.
This story deals mainly with personal frustration. The anxiety and frustration that all parents endure when their young ones start to “leave the nest.”
When our nineteen-year-old daughter, who had been gainfully employed for two years and had saved her money, told us that she was going on a two-week vacation and flying alone to London, I literally broke into a cold sweat. I manfully resisted the temptation to throw myself at her feet and beseech her not to go. Instead, I feigned approval and interest. Milly and I could think of no valid reason (although plenty of invalid ones) why she should not go. So we dutifully put her on a British airliner at Dulles on a Friday night at 11:00 p.m. We sternly instructed her to call us as soon as she arrived. We returned home heavy in heart and thoroughly convinced we would never see her again.
As you may imagine, after twelve hours we were as punchy as punchy can be every time the telephone rang. We sat up until midnight Saturday. Having heard nothing, we went to bed and eventually fell into a fitful slumber. From this we were blasted by the telephone at 6:00 a.m. Sunday. Milly beat me to the telephone by half a head, only to find it was not a call from London, but from the dispatcher in the sheriff’s office with a rescue, there being no radios in those days.
I must confess to the use of profanity. I hope Milly didn’t hear me.
The nature of the call added insult to injury. A Saturday night reveler had fallen off the porch and twisted his back. By morning the “anesthetic” had worn off and he began to hurt.
This one truly drove me to thoughts of mayhem, and I had to resist the urge to open the back door and push stretcher, patient, and all out onto the highway as we sped along.
Our beloved daughter was finally able to get a call through on Monday. She returned on schedule and had a big time.
Now we laugh. Then we didn’t.
Daddy told me that when Mary left for England, he resigned himself to the fact that he had three daughters, now he had two. And later he told me that when you and I were leaving that morning for Alaska he ate breakfast with us and did not enjoy it.
Poor Pa! He was very brave.
He never tried to talk us out of any of our adventures.
Actually, you did not eat breakfast. You were sick. While we were thinking if we should delay the trip for a day so you could recover, Mama decided the matter by hanging a gold cross around your neck and handing you a plastic bag.
And if memory serves, I made good use of said plastic bag.
Yes, it was good you had it as it was a fairly new car.