Just feel like crying,the touching life

There are a lot of things about parenthood that could make one
cry...the cost of formula, sleepless nights, or diaper messes just to
name a few. However, for me the absolute worst had to be -
immunization shots. At about two months into parenthood,I learned the
true meaning of the word "heartbreak". There could not have be
anything worse than watching helplessly as he receives his first round
of immunization shots. I would have rather have been run over by a
truck than have to sit there and watch him go through that. While
listening to his screams, I kept thinking that surely
medical science could have come up with a better way odoing this by
now.As far as any solace from the doctor, all he could say was, "Ah,
look at those healthy tears." As we left the office, I whispered into
my son's ear, "It's okay, Sam.Sometimes you just have to cry."In a way
I guess it was only a matter of time before Sam was introduced to pain
in his life. I remembered losing my father to a sudden car accident a
number of years ago. I tried to remain strong through it all. One day,
when a song came on the radio that reminded me of your grandpa, I
completely lost it. It was the first time since the funeral that I
just let go and cried. It felt good to not hold back anymore. The
earliest memory I have of my father is one of me as a young boy
holding his hand by his two last fingers as we walked together. His
hands seemed so large that his fingers were all I could actually grip.
He always took me with him to basketball games even at my young age. I
will never forget that. As I grew older I remember dad and I listening
to high school basketball games together on an old transistor radio. I
would make a list of players names on a piece of paper and keep track
of how many points each would score as the game went on. Too small to
stay awake for the whole game, I always fell asleep before the game
ended. When I would wake up in the morning I would find the score
sheet Lying next to me. The score sheet would be filled out with the
final score on it completed by my father before he carried me to bed.I
remember the times when my father would stop by the house in the early
morning on those cold days when I was home from school over Christmas
break. I used to ride on the floor of that bread truck as he delivered
the bread to the stores. I don't know if those old trucks even had
heaters but
it didn't matter. The smell and warmth from the bread that had just
come from the bakery ovens would make my
mouth water and keep me warm both at the same time.
In high school I became very interested in athletics. My father
would attend all my games. My senior year our football team qualified
to play In the state championship game. It
was the first time in the history of our school that any team had
advanced that far. The night before the game my
father came to me and sadly announced that he would not be able to
attend. He had to deliver the bread to the stores and the site of the
games was a three hour drive from his route.
He vowed to listen to every play on the transistor radio. Consumed
with the anticipation of the game, I acknowledged his comments without
fully noticing his regret.
The next day as game time approached I couldn't help thinking about my
dad. For some reason as I lined up for the second half kickoff I
happened to look across the field into
the parking lot. There I saw his blue and white bread truck pulling
into the stadium. He has delivered the bread and made the long drive
in time to at least see part of the game in which we won the state
championship. Years later I had become a teacher and coach. Early one
morning I was
awakened by the sound of the telephone ringing at 5:30 A.M. As I
struggled to answer the phone I'll never forget the sound of the
sheriff's voice on the other end telling me that my dad had just been
killed in an automobile accident on his way to
work. Cattle from a nearby farm had broken through a fence and
wandered onto the highway. Being a dark, rainy morning my father never
saw them as he came over a ridge. The impact spun the car sideways in
the highway before
a semi-trailer collided with it. He was killed instantly. As I
listened to the story I could hear my heart beat in my
ears. I hung up the phone devastated. For a long time after that
things really didn't matter to me. I went about my
life but I really didn't care. It felt as if my heart had been torn
away and in sense it had. I went to work. I still taught school but I
was just going through the motions. One day I was on the school
playground supervising a first grade recess. A little boy walked up to
me and grabbed my hand by my last two
fingers. Just like I use to do to my dad. In that moment my father
came back to me. In that instant I realized thateven though my father
was gone he had left me something behind. He had left me his smile. He
had left me his compassion. He had left me his heart. When that little
boy touched my hand I realized that all these wonderful gifts
that I had loved so much about my father could be passed on to
others.From that moment on I started. In that moment I understood the
meaning of the word heritage. Like his father, there will be times in
my son's life when he will feel pain.
When that happens, I hope I am there or him. If I am not, I hope he
remembers the words I whispered in his ear that day as we left the
doctor's office. "It's okay, Sam. Sometimes you just have to cry."