When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was badly crippled and very short, and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. And I would be ashamed of the unwanted attention. If he was ever noticed or bothered, he never let on.
It was difficult to make our steps—his slow, mine impatient, and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you."
He never talked about himself as an object of pity, nor did he show any envy of the more fortunate or able. What he looked for in others was a ―good heart‖, and if he found one, the owner was good enough for him. I believe that is a proper standard by which we can judge people, even though I still don't know exactly what a "good heart" is.
Unable to join in many activities, my father still tried to participate in some way. I now know he participated in some things indirectly through me, his only son. When I played ball, he "played" too. When I joined the Navy, he "joined" too. And when I came home on leave, he made sure that I visited his office. Introducing me, he was really saying, "This is my son, but it is also me, and I could have done this, too, if things had been different." Those words were never said aloud.
He has been gone many years now, but I think of him often. I wonder if he sensed my unwillingness to be seen with him during our walks. If so, I just want to tell him how sorry I was and how I regretted it.
Now I think of him when I complain about small things, when I am envious of others' good fortune, when I don't have a "good heart".
At such times, I put my hand on his arm to regain my balance, and say, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you."
