Falling where I may..

A father stood in a busy department store, the people happily buzzing around him buying gifts for their friends and family, he wondered what he might buy his daughter. Christmas seemed so simple when she was small. A doll, a pair of toy high-heels, really anything would have made her happy, but now that she was an adult with children of her own, it wasn't quite as easy. Knowing that there were many to buy for, with never enough money to buy it all, she had insisted and made him promise not to get her anything. Yet, here he stood, wanting to get her something, something she would love, but not just anything. He glanced around. Maybe a scarf? Something for her house ..or if he could afford it, perhaps something photography related, since it was a passion they both shared? No, none of it felt right. So, he left the store empty handed and disappointed.

After returning home, he sat quietly with his wife, contemplating the perfect gift. You see, the father was a giver, of the most generous kind. His gifts never cost a lot of money but when he had something to give it came from the heart. Always, always giving with sentiment. He relished making people smile and was often moved to tears at witnessing other's joy. He thought of his oldest daughter, and the 34 years he had known her. He thought of how special their relationship was, how he looked forward to their weekly hours-long conversations. The phone; bridging the gap between the 150 miles that separated them. However, it hadn't always been easy with her, his divorce from her mother had made her bitter. She placed blame on him, she threw stones, stones he never dodged. She rejected him for many years, yet, felt abandoned when he backed away. She had needed space,...space he gave her. But just like any good father, he loved her still, always trying to show it as much as she would let him.

Yes, it had been a long hard road fraught with setbacks and hurdles, but as she matured and started her own family, she had begun to soften and see that he had never truly abandoned her. The hard protective outer shell she'd created around her heart crumbled away and in its place the father/child relationship they'd both always privately yearned for, was born.

Then it hit him. He knew exactly what he would give her, and it was his most prized possession.

Everyone has that irreplaceable thing they treasure most. The kind of thing that you grab first in a house fire, after ensuring every one's safety. That thing that you take out on only special occasions; the one that evokes a flood of intimate memories. The father asked his wife what she thought of his idea, her eyes widened in surprise; "are you sure" she asked, "yes" he replied. Without hesitation and tears welling in her eyes, she shook her head and choked out "that's perfect" She knew just what a sacrifice her husband was making with his gift.
Christmas had come. After the children feverishly opened their gifts and everything had quieted, he sat down with his daughter among the litter of torn paper and emptied boxes. He handed her the first gift; a hand-typed framed letter from a soldier who had served in Germany during the war along side her grandfather, an air gunner. The letter titled "The old WWII Fiddle", told a story the daughter hadn't heard before about her beloved Papa and his violin.

The Violin wasn't just ANY violin. The Violin, a replica Stradivarius, made in 1859, had been purchased by her Grandfather at an antique store while in London for $10 on a soldiers stipend, during the war. In between combat missions, he entertained the crew by playing his fiddle "Louisiana style". The soldier detailed in his letter how much the fiddle meant to the crew, as it helped to lighten the heavy mood following their aerial battles. After her Grandfather's tour ended, he was to return home, but according to the officials, his old violin had to stay. He tucked the violin case under his bunk in the barracks, with the hopes that it would somehow be spared and made sing once again for other soldiers in need. Replacement crews came and went, but the violin stayed. Eventually, one of the original crew members recognized the dusty old fiddle peeking out from under the bed as the same one her grandfather had played for him. He made it his mission to return it to it's rightful owner. The violin was smuggled through an underground railroad of sorts out of Europe, to the United States, and back into the hands of the surprised grandfather.

Letter from fellow veteran Leonard Lafitte

The daughter didn't have much from her grandparents, a nativity set and manger handmade by her grandfather, a clock, some postcards, but what she did have, she held dear. As she read the letter, she recounted sitting at her grandfather's knee as a small girl listening to him play her favorite tune; his best Cajun rendition of "The Turkey and the Straw". She thought of the times she would sneak into her Papa's bedroom while he napped loudly nearby, (he was quite the snorer) to quietly slide the violin case from it's prized spot beside his nightstand, and slowly open it to remove the fiddle. She would run her hand down it's prickly strings, and breathe in it's musty wooden aroma. She would place the fiddle under her chin, bow in hand, and mimic the movements her grandfather made countless times, careful not to make a sound. Although it had never been forbidden, as he often tried teaching her to play, she knew that in stealing a look at it she was recognizing it's importance. There were so many memories of her grandfather, like the twinkle in his eyes when recalling his successful, yet deadly missions during the war. Stories, which he would always preface by saying; "now a young girl like you shouldn't hear this, but I will tell you anyway, since you asked" She thought of his soft hands, his few wisps of hair she would occasionally cut, the ridges in his fingernails, the melodic rhythm of his soft tender laughter. He was a kind, gentle, compassionate man, who loved all children and animals, and would make her promise to "grow up to change the world, be the first woman president and to never, EVER buy a Japanese car"

Through teary eyes she raised her head to thank her father, but the father, so overcome with excitement, quickly exchanged the gift with another. With trembling fingers, she carefully unwrapped the second gift; a framed portrait of her grandfather her father had taken in 1975 which had hung proudly in her grandparents home for decades. The grandfather; head adorned with his ever-present Fedora and his old Fiddle resting at his shoulder was posed perfectly as if caught playing mid song. His face serene and still. She knew that if God were to allow entry of possessions into Heaven, this violin was surely at his side.

Henry Whitehead playing his fiddle 1975 ©David Whitehead

This was too much! She had loved that picture so much and here her father was, giving her the original copy. "What a perfect Christmas" she cried out, thinking with certainty the picture was her big gift. But, her father, still not finished with his gift giving, pulled the picture from her hand and placed a large box wrapped with twine and paper in her lap. As it dawned on the daughter what was inside the package she wept and whispered, "No, No, No, but this is yours, Papa gave it to you.." He held on to her hands, and calmly said "..and now it's yours". Her father had lovingly packed the old violin and it's case, cushioning them with tattered rags. She hadn't seen the violin in over 20 years and here, here it was, resting in her hands. It's smell, the feel of the worn wood, the curvature of it's waist, it's scrolls, and even it's tuning pegs which had been last tuned by her grandfather, were now hers to protect and preserve. After seeing her overcome with awe and exuberance, the father knew then he had made the right choice, and that no one else in the family could have ever appreciated or honored it like he knew she would. It was where it was meant to be, and just like his father, and now he, had once done, she too would one day impart the responsibility of being it's memory keeper onto her children.

The daughter realized the significance of the gift. It was her father's most cherished possession and although he had once felt as though didn't have enough to give her, it came to be that he had given her his everything, and THAT was his most precious gift.

Thank you Daddy.
I love you.