A Present for Dad

“Bill, what do you want to do with this?”  Sandi held up a small cardboard box.

Packing for a move forced hard decisions about what to discard and what to keep, but that box was special. After my parents divorced, I missed my dad and made a belt for him.  It wasn’t much, only a yard of leather in a simple braid, some polish and a plain buckle. I gave it to him for Father’s Day, and he wore it until his girth made it obsolete.  It disappeared and, eventually, I forgot about it.

After he had passed, I got this box in the mail along with a note from my stepmother. She wrote of how Dad treasured the belt I made and, even though he couldn’t wear it again, he refused to throw it away.

I opened the box and lifted the belt, stiff and with signs of hard use. The leather was stretched, and the holes for the rusted and tarnished buckle were oval, rather than round. I rolled it up and placed it back in the box, then sealed it with tape.

It felt so small and so light in my hand. “I think we’ll save it.”She lifted a ragged t-shirt.  “What about this?”

After my first marriage collapsed, Laura gave it to me for Father’s Day. I wore it for years until I feared another washing would destroy it. Then, I put it away.

I stared at the shirt Sandi held in her hands, but I didn’t see the faded blue, the holes or the frayed collar and cuffs. Now, I knew why my dad treasured that belt. I saw my daughter, saying without words that she would always love me.

“I’d rather keep it.”

Sandi tried to hide her grin. “I knew you would.”

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.