Best Efforts

“Bill, can you help James?”  Sandi called from the kitchen after James screamed. When I strode into his bedroom, he looked up at me and screamed again in frustration. Still preverbal at age 4, he used the only tool at his disposal, a piercing scream. This time, I was able to determine the problem. His favorite toy, a stick with a red bandanna wrapped around it, had come undone. I rewrapped the bandanna and he was happy.

James had other toys, but his favorite was this stick with the bandanna. I didn’t know what it was about this one stick, but he played with it constantly, especially outdoors. With use, the red cloth would loosen and he would bring it to me, secure in the knowledge that Dad could fix it.  Time after time, I did. He couldn’t explain what was wrong or how he wanted it fixed, but he didn’t need words to say he loved it.

But, it was still a stick and not a particularly strong one. James tapped it on the floor one day, perhaps a little harder than normal, and it broke along with his little heart. He would lift it, flex the broken part, then break into a fresh bout of tears.

He brought it to me. He knew that Dad could make everything right, and I tried. I used glue, but the glue never held. I wound thread around the two pieces and saturated it with glue. I drilled out the center and inserted a tenon made from a matchstick. It didn’t last either. Dad could fix anything, but not this. I failed, and James was inconsolable.

Over time, James accepted his loss. He crawled into my lap one evening while I watched TV and fell asleep. Maybe I didn’t fail after all.

William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.