Bret Calvert

It was one of the proudest faces I had ever seen on my Dad. I had just got a call that I got the job and he was simply thrilled for me. He looked at me being hired to do improv comedy on a cruise ship as a victory. He saw it as me making a living with words and laughter…and that’s all he ever wanted for me because he knew it was all I wanted for myself.

 

The call had come. Driving to Minneapolis in my Dad’s car, buying a pawn shop guitar to audition with and writing my monologue on a truck-stop napkin had paid off. With what seemed like everyone who had ever zip-zap-zopped auditioning, I had still got the job. I was going to be a professional comedian…at least for the next 6 months.

 

What’s more…I could move out of my Dad and stepmother’s house and turn in my shellfish-scrap-encrusted apron to the fine folks at Joe’s Crab Shack.

 

Dad beamed. Ann cried. I beamed and cried.

 

It was time to celebrate. Dad suggested we try that fancy place off the highway we had always been curious about but were way too broke to actually try. This was a special occasion and we were going to do it in style.

 

We walked in and were immediately swallowed up by ambiance. We were shown to our tables, served our plantain chips and given our menus. I saw the light in Dad’s face go out when he opened his.

 

It was just too much. No matter what we were celebrating, this meal was going to put him in a hole. They were scraping by as it was and this celebration was going to hurt.

 

“Dad, we don’t need to do this. The prices are outrageous.”

 

“It’ll be OK. We don’t have anything like this to celebrate very often…I can make it work.”

 

“But…I wont be able to enjoy it if you have to spend this much.”

 

“Just relax and enjoy it. It’ll be fine. I wouldn’t tell you it’s OK if it wasn’t OK.”

 

“Sorry, Pop. I don’t want this.”

 

“(Sigh) Are you sure?”

 

“Yes”

 

“Thank God. Let’s get out of here.”

 

We left our plantain chips untouched, left a couple bucks for the waitress who had poured the water and left.

 

I felt terrible. The pride on Dad’s face had turned to shame. He wanted to do this for me and it broke his heart that he couldn’t.

 

“Excuse me, sir. Is everything OK?”

 

It was the manager. He had seen our hasty exit and had followed us out. Dad kept his face turned so the manager wouldn’t see the look in his eyes. He walked faster towards the car and called back over his shoulder.

 

“Yes. Everything’s fine. We just have to go.”

 

I’ll never understand why the manager didn’t just let it go…but he didn’t. He began walking after us.

 

“If you didn’t like what’s on the menu, we can have the chef make you something special.”

 

“No. Thank you.”

 

“Are you sure, he does a whitefish that is pretty incredible. Anything you want we can…”

 

Dad turned on his heels.

 

“WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY, OK?”

 

It was loud but not angry. Dad was pleading with the man not to let the moment drag on any longer.

 

The man shrank. I mean he literally, physically shrank.

 

“I’m sorry…I didn’t…sorry…have a good night.”

 

I could see him pleading with his legs not to run as he turned and stumbled inside.

 

Dad just stood and drew breath for several long moments…and we silently got in the car.

 

I had seen that look on Dad’s face a few times since he put everything he had into the bakery. I saw it when he tried to reason with the bill collectors from the restaurant supply stores. I saw it when the doors closed for the final time. I saw it when he tirelessly delivered papers or sold meat door-to-door or cataloged pallets for an auction company or any of the other things he did to get by in his post-bankruptcy life.

 

I had been there when he rolled the dice and failed.

 

I never blamed him for rolling them.

 

I hope he knows that I wasn’t even a little disappointed that we didn’t get to have the fancy meal…I was proud of him for letting me talk him out of it.

 

One of my favorite things about my father is that he is a proud man…but never lets his pride get in his way. I mean, the man has TWO Master’s Degrees. He ran one of the most successful hospices in the country…he even co-wrote a Texas law that governs the use of Medicare funds for terminally ill patients that is still on the books to this day. And when he decided to follow his dream, that decision laid waste to his finances…some would say his future. But…and here’s the beautiful part…he didn’t swallow his pride to sell shoes…he just shifted it. He took pride in his knowledge of shoes and decided to be the best damn shoe salesman he could. Selling meat, delivering papers, teaching 5^th grade math, stocking shelves…whatever…he decided that he would take pride in it all.

 

I try like hell every day to inherit that trait.

 

---

 

“Well…we have to eat somewhere.” Ann said.

 

“Hell yeah, we do. We got a professional comedian here.” Dad said as he looked out the window. “Tell you what, Bret…if you become a famous funny man and make lots of money…let’s still never eat here.”

  

“That’s a deal.”

 

“So…where to now?”

 

I just pointed to the lighted sign of another restaurant across the highway in a mall parking lot.

  

I wouldn’t trade anything I’ve ever owned, seen, heard, felt or experienced for the smile my father gave me…or for any part of the meal that followed.

  

We went to the sign, sat down and ordered our meals. We laughed about the poor manager at that other joint and how bad he must feel. Dad asked me to tell all the stories about my audition again. He told all the tables around us about the cruise ship. We were having such a good time that they couldn’t help but join in the celebration. When Dad toasted my success, a dozen glasses went up. People asked for my autograph, just in case.

 

The manager even came over and chatted with our impromptu group for most of the meal…securing his landslide victory as our favorite restaurant manager of the evening.

 

Dad resumed beaming and Ann resumed crying.

 

It was a magical night.

 

It had been the three of us in that bakery every day. We had shared the extra gravity that pulls on you when you live near the edge and we had held each other up when we fell off. In a weird way, they were my best friends.

 

It was the perfect celebration for the three of us. We dropped the weight of the changes that had brought us there and gave in to the joy of the changes that were coming…and it was my favorite meal of all-time. Hands down.

 

And the food was delicious…

 

At Denny’s.