OHC: The Final Fourth: A Family March

"You're a long way from Tallahassee," said Bernadette to Burt in the first "Longest Yard" movie.  I used to echo that line to my Dad, after he accepted a job in our nation's capitol.  It was strange that my timid Mom had refused to go with him.  After a two-decade marriage, my parents were slipping away from each other like sail boats.  They were not breaking-up, they assured us.  Dad simply needed to work. Okay....

We were an American family who had climbed a few rungs above the last generation's immigrant workers..  My parents never raised their voices at each other, and arguments were rarely apparent.  Occasionally, Mom would stop talking for a few days (or weeks).  The cabinet doors expressed what she could not.  Dad, usually good-natured, would disappear into the den to hide behind LeCarre or Updike.  My sisters and I would carry-on carefully under the illusion of our parents' contentment.   

I was the first to leave home.  At eighteen I shared an apartment with an FSU co-ed after snagging a secretarial job with the State.  Two years later I would leave Tallahassee with a new husband to settle in his South Florida home.  My romantic departure may have given my parents reason to reconsider the quality of their relationship.  They loved my marriage the same way some people today love Jennifer and Mark.

We made efforts to remain festive during those occasions that would bring us us together:  Christmas, Easter, Labor Day (but never their anniversary).  Dad would return from DC while my husband and I would make the pilgrimage from our swampy paradise. My sisters would surrender a bedroom to us, and Dad would resume his place in the master suite. We preferred believing that my parents were happy with their modern arrangement.  But sometimes in the wee hours,  I would  find Dad asleep on the den's daybed and I'd tiptoe out of the room.  Never said a word. 

Independence Day, 1978 was the last holiday we celebrated together.  Mom and the girls flew-up to DC, and my husband and I made the trip by car.  Dad squired us around the Smithsonian, the National Zoo, and arranged for lunch in the White House's Executive Dining Room.  He tried desperately to impress us (to impress Mom) and it nearly worked. We were too busy to notice the formality that had begun to characterize their marriage.  They said little to each other, and when they did, we could almost see the frost.  

We spent our final evening on the Capitol Building's Lawn.  Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway began a sultry set featuring each of their hits.  I leaned on my husband.  He rubbed my neck and my sighs were as much for him as they were for the performers.  Our shoulders swayed in unison to "Killing Me Softly" and "The First Time (Ever…)".  When the musicians introduced the first few notes of "Where is the Love" I glanced over at the rest of my family.  My sisters seemed lost in the rhythm and the breezy vocals, each hypnotized by the heat and the music.  [where is the love, you said was mine, oh mine, till the end of time…]  I looked at my Dad who was looking at my Mom. [Was it just a line….] who was looking at me.  She held my gaze with her sad gray eyes until I looked away.  [Don't keep me hanging onto promises…]  For a second it seemed like a spotlight had settled on her heartache. [You've got to let me go….]  Dad stood outside of the moment like a shadow boxer's shadow.  [Where is the Love…] I saw what had vanished between them just before a fanfare announced the last act.  

Arthur Fiedler ended the festivities with booming patriotic anthems.  The fireworks, incredible chrysanthemums of color, pattern and brilliance were doubly dazzling when they burst above the dome.  My sisters squealed along with others in the crowd.  "Ooooh......ahhhh."  We sang along to "You're a Grand Old Flag", "God Bless America" and all the standards.  My Dad, still proud of his family, still proud of his country, sang with tone-deaf abandon, and for one last hopeful holiday, we all joined voice to corrupt our favorite family lyric:

   "Aaaaaaaand the monkey wrapped its tail around the flagpole!"

    [crash]  [piccolo]  [laughter]

It always cracked us up.  If someone had taken our snapshot they would have captured an American family, eyes glittering, hands clapping, and tears streaming like the twilight's last gleaming grace