The Players

The Players

I grew up in the fifties with parents so loving

May they rest in peace

Mom waited up while I studied by the candle light

Late into the sombre night;

Too afraid she was

Lest should I on my book fall asleep.

A name for her we siblings had

Our very own Florence Nightingale

For everyone around her she cared

Tending to a neighbour’s sick child

Or making a cup of hot soup for the old man

Who nearby alone lived.

A Father who was happier

Fixing the ancient cupboard hinges that creaked

Than buying a new cupboard… a name for him we had too

The Handyman around the house

There wasn’t anything that he could not fix.

Their marriage was good,

Their dreams not grandiose but focused.

Mom ever raising her voice I do not recall

Dad over his anger always kept control.

Our best friends lived barely a wave

Or a stone’s throw away.

I can imagine seeing them now,

Dad in his favourite khaki shorts,

Tee shirt and a pith helment;

And Mom in a house dress,

Broom in one hand, dish-towel in the other

Doris Day’s Que Sera Sera played on the radio.

And Patti Page sang the Tennessee Waltz

While the dog lazed on the patio.

For Dad, it was always the time for fixing things

I don’t ever remember seeing him idle –

A curtain rod, the kitchen stool,

The backyard fence, the rake handle, the broken tile

Or the pedal of my bicycle.

He could fix it all.

For Mom, it was the hem in a dress,

A quilt she would stitch

A sweater she would knit;

The missing shoe lace

Or replacement of a lost button

On my school uniform that had quit.

A few years later my Mom died,

And on that clear August night,

About her death I received a telegram,

For the first time I was struck with pain,

A void and loneliness in my little room;

Realised someone was not there any more

Felt lonelier than ever before.

Sometimes, what we care most about

Gets all used up without we knowing it

It goes away...never to return.

So...while we have it … it is best we love it.....

And care for it.....and fix it when it's broken.....

And heal it when it's sick.

This is true...for marriage...and old bicycles...

Children burdened with homework...

And dogs in the daytime that rarely barked

But somehow into the darkness the whole night yelped;

The myna and the parrot mimicked one another,

The cat that slept most of the day,

And untiring parents...and grandparents… with a house neatly kept.

The same goes for friends too -

Good old friends who were always there

And those we have known for so long;

Some things we keep - because they are worth it.

Classmates, neighbours and buddies we grew up with.

For me all things old are not just nostalgia,

A mere musing or reminiscence,

They are just some things that have made my life worth living,

Like people we know who are special

Who we keep close to our hearts and minds,

And remember and treasure.

Mom and Dad were THE Players in my team.

So were my neighbours and class-mates

And friends I met along the way;

You are no different.

You are my friend

A REAL PLAYER in my life too!

You have given your share

In making life worth living.

Tony Fernandes