Just Backrubs

I used to give Dad backrubs because his back hurt a lot.  Whether it was from the polio he had when he was a kid, the fall off the roof of the house or from working outside in the weather, I don't know and he never said.  Since I was a kid, I probably never asked either.  Sometimes my sisters would join in and then the silliness ensued.  We would stand around pressing our hands into his back and then asking ridiculous questions such as: "Can you feel our hands?" (duh), "How many hands can you feel now?" (also, duh!  Dad built houses for a living so I am fairly confident he was able do basic math!).  Of course, since he was probably half asleep and also in order to tease us he would say the wrong number and then we would all collapse with laughter.  That's because nothing is more hilarious to kids than an adult who can't count accurately!

Such is life in the country.  We watched the corn grow, popped tar bubbles and laughed when adults couldn't add or subtract properly. 

As I got older, those backrubs eventually turned into long conversations with Dad.  I would do this almost every Saturday night.  He asked me all kinds of stuff about school, what I wanted to do when I grew up, my friends, sometimes he would tell me funny stories about when he was a kid.  The conversations were about everything and nothing at all.  At some point, he would get quiet and I would think he had fallen asleep and when I would stop, he usually said, "Are your hands sore?"  Then we would talk a few more minutes while the feeling came back into my wrists and fingers.

I remember one day when I was out on my own and I suddenly wished I could give Dad a backrub.  Of course, it wasn't the backrub I wanted, it was the conversation.  It was a new thing to me to miss my Dad, so I called him.  It wasn't the same, but it was a pretty good substitute.

The last time I gave him a backrub was about five years ago.  We were at his house in Gatlinburg and he said his back was really hurting.  I said, "Well, we could resurrect those marathons backrubs I used to do and then try to crack it."  He laughed and said, "Those were pretty fun."  Then to my surprise and secret delight, he said OK.  Of course this time, there were four grandkids standing around with their little hands on his back and asking the same silly questions my sisters and I did 35 years before.  And, it wouldn't have been right if he hadn't miscounted and teased and made everyone collapse on the bed with laughter.  Eventually, the kids left and we had a nice conversation, about what the grandkids might do when they grew up, things they liked to do, their personalities and more funny stories from his younger days.  That conversation was about everything and nothing at all too.

It wasn't about giving a good backrub and trying to crack his back, it was about him spending time with me and investing his life in mine.  It was about having conversations that were meaningful and fun and silly and routine all at the same time.

Dad knew the backrubs were about a whole lot more than gaining some temporary relief from his sore muscles and vertebrae that needed to be cracked.  It took me awhile before I caught on, but once I did, I missed that time we had together.  He won't be needing anymore backrubs, but I'm glad he needed them when I needed his quiet guidance.  We never solved world peace and we didn't always agree about things, but it sure was a great way for us to gain a deeper understanding, appreciation and respect for each other.

Now, I miss Dad again, but there is no phone that can breach the gap between us this time.  His stories are all told and his laughter has been silenced in our world.  Time has run out and there will be no further opportunities to ease his sore muscles.  I don't like it very much either, though I am powerless to change it and the hurt is mildly assuaged by the idea that I know his back doesn't hurt anymore.

Trace Adkins recorded a song, "Just Fishin'" about taking his little girl fishing and while she tells him all kinds of stuff and thinks they are just fishing, he knows what is actually happening is much more meaningful than catching dinner.  I wish I had asked Dad to listen to it the first time I heard it in July because it really reminded me of the backrubs. 

When I was done, Dad always said, "Thanks Kiddo."  Now, it's my turn to be thankful that we spent that time together before there wasn't anymore left.

(Scroll all the way down and turn off the music to hear "Just Fishin'".