Desperation Hours

What’s a song that helped you change someone’s life?

Note: this song did make me see things much differently, but I took a little poetic license. It’s a rewrite of a different prompt from a few years ago.

Kelsey and Kari looked at each other, then me, as they ate their pancakes. Their excitement was palpable; tomorrow was the big reveal. 

I laughed to myself; I didn’t know how the little surprise I had cooked up was going to be received.

That was Friday morning. It was a normal work day, and by 4:00 pm or so, people were ducking out early for the weekend. 

Over the cubicle wall, I could hear my manager on the phone. I could hear the exasperation, the frustration, as he conversed with his wife. The white noise generator was off and I could clearly hear her loud, hectoring tone as he made yet another excuse before slamming the phone back into its cradle with a muttered curse.

As I drove home, I considered him. He was an accomplished guy, an electrical engineer with his MBA.

He was smart and ambitious, a wannabe ladder climber. There wasn’t a task, a job, a project he didn’t tackle with unbridled enthusiasm. He put in the long hours required, he had his eye on a promotion to Corporate.

He also had two kids: A daughter, six; and a son eight. I had lost track of the times he had begged off a recital, a game, an outing in favor of putting the finishing touches on a PowerPoint or getting a head start on a new “stretch goal.” Several times a month I heard such an exchange with his wife.

I shook my head as I parked the car and walked out to our mailbox. 

Someday, I thought sadly. Someday, you’ll regret it.

Saturday morning dawned warm and clear, a typical June day for our part of North Carolina. I didn’t keep the kids in suspense; I held out a wrapped box. They looked at me questioningly, then opened it.

“A Slip n’ Slide?” They examined the box with interest; laughing kids in bathing suits on a long plastic mat. “What’s this for?” Kari asked.

“OK,” I said. This is Dad Summer Week. You guys are gonna live like I did as a kid.” They exchanged wary looks.

“You can watch three channels on TV: ABC, NBC, and CBS. You can read all my old comic books and MAD magazines in the bonus room closet and play any of the board games.” I paused, then continued.

“You can play Barbies. No Internet, no video games, no VHS or DVD movies. No computer. Only vinyl records. I’ll take you to the library whenever you want.”

They looked stunned as I continued. “You can ride your bikes. I’ll help you build a fort. I got us a week pass to the town pool and you can use the Slip n’ Slide.”

Their shoulders slumped in dejection as they headed upstairs carrying the Slip n’ Slide. This is gonna be great, I thought. I’m not sure they shared my optimism.

By Monday, Dad Summer Week was in full swing. Two days with no TV, movies or computer had been transformative. They had dragged out all my old board games and seemed to like Battleship the best. I left for work as Kelsey’s aircraft carrier was finished off by her sister with a hit on B-9.

At work, my boss Elliott seemed particularly harried. I took in something for him to sign late in the day, and asked if everything was OK. He leaned back in his chair and ran a distracted hand through his hair.

“I wanted to be there on Saturday for Sander’s game,” he said. “But I spent all day here on Saturday and Sunday. Christine’s not talking to me. I feel like I’m being pulled in two. Damn.”

I’m not sure where it came from, but I had a sudden thought. “Have you ever heard that Harry Chapin song Cat’s in the Cradle?” I asked. He was several years younger than me.

He shook his head. “Here,” I said, indicating his laptop. “May I?” He scooted to one side and I leaned forward and typed. I brought up YouTube and found the song.

“Do me a favor,” I said. “Just listen to this. Don’t think about work. Just concentrate on the lyrics.” I tapped play and the intro followed by the first few lines filled his cubicle. 

My child arrived just the other day 
He came to the world in the usual way 
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay 
He learned to walk while I was away

He played it again. Then a third time. He got a faraway look and hardly noticed as I left.

Dad Summer Week grew in popularity. Water balloons were thrown from second floor bedrooms. A jump ramp for bikes was made from plywood and cinder blocks.

The Slip n’ Slide was set up in the backyard and Archie and Superman comics were read for the first time in 30 years. Lightning bugs were captured in the June twilight.

While Sue was out, we tied string to Barbies and taped them to the family room ceiling fan. As we turned up the speed, they flew higher and higher as the kids shouted and jumped with excitement. 

Unfortunately, one broke free just as Sue was coming in with groceries; as she watched in disbelief, Malibu Barbie flew over to the mantle and knocked off a crystal candle holder. It shattered in front of the fireplace. 

I smoothed things over by taking Sue out to her favorite restaurant, while the kids stayed home and had Salisbury steak TV dinners and Jiffy-Pop popcorn.

On Thursday, Elliott stuck his head in my cubicle to say good night. I snuck a glance at my watch: 4:15 pm. I looked at him in surprise. “Don’t we have a meeting with Procurement in the morning?” I asked. “To review the final bid package?”

He looked at me. “Jeannie’s having her dance recital tonight. I promised I’d be there.” He tapped his hand on the metal edge of my cubicle; his ring made a metallic clink. “See you tomorrow.” 

The kids’ tastes in games became more sophisticated; that night, I came home to find them playing Risk. Kari was hanging on for dear life in Australia while Kelsey’s huge army in Siam threatened her with annihilation.

By Friday, Dad Summer Week was drawing to a close but by all accounts it had been a huge success. No one got hurt on the jump ramp or sick from drinking from a hose. We swatted mosquitoes as we looked through my telescope at star clusters and planets. Library books replaced sitcoms, cop shows and dramas on the three networks.

And Elliott… the change that that one song had made on the trajectory of his life was nothing less than remarkable. He dropped his ladder-climbing dreams in favor of spending time with his family.

He was a rarity at work after 4:30 and “stretch targets” became a thing of the past. He worked in my area for another ten years and by all accounts, he and his kids were tight. He had escaped Harry Chapin’s fate.

My kids today talk about what a fun childhood they had.

I’d like to think that Elliott’s kids do, too.

Images by author and Meta AI

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