Overheard, a dad’s love for child

Funny, the things you learn when you tuck manners away and allow yourself to eavesdrop.

My friend, Mary Noble (a Southern woman who goes by two names), and I had just slid into the ancient red leather and steel booth of the old-fashioned diner on the outskirts of Birmingham and placed our order for breakfast.

We set about pouring cream into the steaming mugs of black coffee when, for some reason, we halted our casual chit-chat after we heard the shrilling ring of the telephone at the nearby cash register stand.

“Diner,” answered the aging man with silver hair and loose skin that hung in folds around his mouth and neck.

He answered with a clipped, business tone but quicker than you could say “eggs over easy,” his voice melted like marshmallows dropped into hot chocolate. “Oh, hey, honey,” he said next.

I guess that’s what caught our attention because Mary Noble and I both hushed at that point, raised our eyebrows at each other and leaned closer to eavesdrop better.

“Where are you?” He asked then waited for the answer. “You didn’t forget your camera, did you?” Another pause. “Be sure to put it in the basket at the airport when you get to security. Don’t walk through the detector with it. Then, don’t forget it. You’ve got your money, right?” Another pause. “Okay, sweetheart. Well, when you get there, call me first thing and let me know you’re all right.”

I saw him smile. “I love you. Be careful. Bye, sweetheart.”

Really, I don’t know how we knew but somehow we reckoned that he was talking to his daughter. Women’s intuition, I guess. Though, I did think he was too old to have a young daughter that he would be talking to like that. The phone clicked back on the hook and we looked at each other and smiled sentimentally like women will do because conversations like that touch our hearts.

“Isn’t that sweet?” I asked.

Mary Noble nodded. She turned around, craning her neck to look at the man who was sitting back down at the first booth and returning his attention to the newspaper he had been reading when the phone rang. Then, she sold us out.

“We were just listening to your conversation. That must have been your daughter. It was so sweet.”

He chuckled slightly and blushed. “Yeah, that was my girl.”

“It’s wonderful to hear a father talk to his daughter like that,” I remarked.

He put the newspaper down. “She’s 50 years old.” Before that comment could stun us, he continued. “She’s got MS (multiple sclerosis). Had it for years but it hasn’t progressed much. In fact, in the last five years, it hasn’t progressed any. She’s going to Washington, D.C., to see her boyfriend.”

He looked out the large plate glass window, studying the morning sunlight that dappled the trees and cars parked along the street. He waited a long moment before speaking again.

“I love that girl so. She’s her mama made over.” He shook his head slowly. “I guess no matter how old they get, you just don’t quit worryin’ about ‘em.” He cleared his throat. “And, she’ll never get too old for me to tell her how much I love her.”

That scene hung with me for the rest of the day. In a world that sometimes seems too busy to love, we had found a father with plenty of time to do it.

In a little Alabama diner on a quiet, tree-lined street, we discovered a father unafraid to say, “I love you,” to a daughter who was half a century old. And, not embarrassed to say it loud enough for the eager ears of strangers.

Funny, the things that will warm your heart when you tuck your manners away long enough to eavesdrop.