The old man sat at the table, with his mind only half working. These days things for him came in bits and starts. Sometimes his thoughts moved more quickly than the words would develop. He remained quiet, listening and tossing in a word or two of clarification as the others spoke of lives now and then.
His eyes twinkled and heart raced from the warmth of his visitors. He thought a day such as this would never come. Family, at his table. They had come to see him and it had been so long.
Yet he wasn’t sure how to behave or welcome them, other than to offer food and drink. A place to sit.
A smile.
They were sharing so much, with the old pictures brought out and tales being told of long ago days. He thought that perhaps this was the time to share more, before there was no more time.
“You, and you,” he said, pointing to his two sons. “Come with me.”
Leaving the women behind in the dining room, the three headed out the kitchen door and toward the garage. The room was clean and orderly, with little clutter and tools and yard items hanging neatly on hooks. The old man said nothing until he’d led them to the work bench, which was also neat and tidy. It didn’t seem as if much had been worked on there, but the man would find ways to pass the time tinkering with various items needing fixing, like the old clock that sat in the corner. It ticked quietly.
“Now I brought you out here because I wanted to share something with you. And it’s real important. And I don’t want you to tell the others about this, OK?”
The two younger men just looked at each other.
“You promise?”
He wasn’t going any further until they’d finally agreed.
The old man reach into a the creaky metal file cabinet that stood beside the workbench, and pulled out a large manila envelope.
“Now this,” he said as he tapped the outside of the crinkled paper addressing the younger of the two men, “this is something….Well, it’s a thing I think you can do something with. You’re smart. You know things. You can figure things out….you know with all that family history stuff you’ve done, right?”
It’s true that the son had done a lot of genealogy research and had a penchant for history. He had proudly shared his discoveries, which went back several generations, with the whole family and anyone who would listen.
“So I want you to have this, ” the old man said, as he handed the envelope to the researcher.
The young man held the envelope for a moment, wondering what could possibly be in it, and wondered what to do next. Finally, with a glance to his brother, he opened the envelope.
Inside was a newspaper.
The Chicago Tribune. November 23, 1963.
The extra large headline read: “JFK Assassinated.”
The old man stepped closer, lowered his earnest voice and looked the young man steadily in the eyes. “You can do something with this. You’re smart. You can figure somethings out. OK?”
The younger man was only fascinated to be holding such an historical item, which had survived for over forty years in some dusty box. He uttered an agreeable response.
“Remember….you keep this to yourselves.”
With the newspaper slipped carefully back into the envelope, the three men slipped carefully back in to the house, rejoining the women at the table.
Today the old man is gone, and his secret still safe.
Varioni's Den 