The Story He Never Told

There's nothing quite like summer Saturday mornings. Early Saturday mornings specifically. When the sun is just about to rise and most of the city is still asleep. The humidity is down, wind blowing in through the open windows, a nice hot cup of coffee in my hand and the Saturday edition of the Inquirer are all I need. It's the hour of peace I get, before the patter of 8 sets of feet come rushing down the stairs for breakfast and full of ideas for how we can spend the day. From the moment my kids are up, our house is never still or quiet--laughter, screams, singing and chaos is the norm in my home. So I cherish the time I get to myself; it helps me refocus for the week ahead.

And this was the first Saturday of summer vacation, which was to bring its own batch of chaos and hilarity from my children.

I figured I had a solid 20 minutes left of quiet before the house would explode and I'd get thrown right into summer routines.

The phone rang right as my second cup of coffee hit my lips. I turned and looked to the kitchen clock. It was 7:15. I always had a slight adversion to talking on the telephone--I'd rather speak in person, and look someone in the eye. But my wife insisted on installing the damn thing, "We have 8 children! I'm not going to run down to the market if one of them is bleeding to death and needs an ambulance," she told me. Out of principal, I never answered it. And whoever had the nerve to call at that hour deserved to be ignored. I let it keep ringing and went back to the sports section, enjoying my second cup of coffee.

Two minutes went by and the sound of bells filled my silent house again. Unrelentless.

"This better be good," I said to myself as I stood and reached for the telephone."Hello," I said into the reciever, trying to convery my annoyance with every syllable I uttered.

"Is this Mr. Diehl," the voice on the other end asked.

"Yes it is. Who is calling."

"Is your son Joseph? Joseph Diehl," they asked again.

"Um....yeah. May I ask who's calling?"

"This is nurse Monroe over at Nazareth Hospital. Your son was brought in this morning. He's being examined now."

"No wait. My son is asleep. Up in bed. Are you sure you have the right number," I asked, equally confused and concerned. My heart was starting to flutter uncontrollably.

"I'm pretty sure sir. He was able to give us your phone number. 6 years old. Birthdate June 16th 1962. Blue eyes--"

"Right. Right. Okay. That's my son. What happened! Is he okay?" I was on my feet again, anxiously pacing the kitchen. The phone chord was stretched to the max as I grabbed my car keys and attempted to lace my shoes.

"He was hit by a car crossing over the Oxford to Bridge. He seems to be alright, his bicycle looks to have taken most of the impact. He just has a few bumps and scrapes on his legs from the asphalt. More shook up then anything. The doctor is in with him now. Probably best that you come down, sir."

"I'll be there in 5," I said, dropping the reciever and running from the kitchen. In the 2 seconds it took me to get to the front door, I decided it'd be better to not wake my wife or anyone else in the house. It'd be pointless and just hold me up from getting to the hospital as soon as possible.

I ran from the house to my car, fought with the car door--4 keys on a key ring do not all fit in the same lock, as they should in these situations--then was flying down the Boulevard at a decently unsafe speed. I ignored the other cars around me; the horns and yells of people I was cutting off and I swerved in and out of lanes. I probably ran a few lights but I couldn't tell you. All I was thinking about was my youngest son at the hospital.

We lived within a mile of Nazareth Hospital. My wife works in one of the outpatient doctor's offices' as a receptionist 3 days a week. When the weather is nice, she actually walks to work. She considers it her exercise and enjoys the 15 minute walk  home, especially at night. She said it calms her--almost like my Saturday mornings do for me.  She loved living so close to work and not having to depend on me to drop her  there.

And it that moment, I was thanking God we lived so close.

As I pulled into Nazareth's parking lot, my mind was racing as fast as my car had been going. I was trying to keep calm, but the second you hear your child is hurt--especially when you think he is upstairs in bed--all that goes out the window. I literally couldn't think straight or think of anything else but the worse possible scenario. I attempted to park my car--I was probably taking up 2 spaces and really could care less--and again hustled from the parking lot to the entrance.

Inside, it was pure hosptial-esque chaos.

Doctors and nurses were everywhere, but running around on their agendas. Gurneys were being rolled up and down the hallways and the load-speakers above my head were barking orders and instructions to employees. I was slightly overwhelmed and didn't know where to start. I grabbed the first person who took notice of me and she pointed me in the right direction; her assuming I should start in the ER where most of the off-street patients were taken first.

I ran all the way to the ER and was completely out of breath by the time I got there. I grabbed an orderly by the collar  as I tried to catch my breath.

"I'm looking....for my....son. He was brought....in a few minutes....ago. Joseph Diehl. He's.....6," I managed to say through massive gasps.

"Okay sir," he said, as he  shook my hands from his neck," please take a breath. Calm down a bit. His name is Joseph Diehl?"

I nodded, trying to slow my pounding heart.

"Okay. Why don't you take a seat, while I try and track him down. Would you like some water," he said, motioning to a nearby bench. I sat down as he handed me a paper cup of water and walked away. I took 3 massive gulps down of water and crushed the cup in my hands. I felt better but my heart was still pounding. Probably wouldn't stop until I found him.

After a few minutes the orderly came back and motioned for me to follow him.

"He's right down here Mr. Diehl. I was able to pull his chart. He seems to be alright, just a bit shaken. He sustained a few minor scratches on his arms and legs, but nothing that some bandages can't heal up. There's just one issue," he said, walking steadily down the hallway, with my jogging in toe.

"Which is," I asked.

"Your son won't allow the doctor to finish his exam. Because he was practically under the car when the ambulance got to him, the doctors wish to exam his hips and upper thighs just to make sure there is not internal damage. He won't allow the doctors to remove his blue jeans to take the necessary X-Ray. Hopefully he will calm down a  bit once he sees you and allow us to complete the exam."

I nodded in agreement. He stopped short in front of a small room and motioned for me to go in. I turned the doorknob and walked in.

Inside was my son.

He was sitting on top of an exam table, legs dangling off the side, wearing a hospital gown  but with his blue jeans peaking out from the bottom. He was shivering and crying lightly. Broke my heart to pieces. And the minute he saw me, he jumped from the table and into my waiting arms. I swept him up and carried him back to the table, sitting down with him across my lap. He was clutching my neck for dear life and crying harder than he had before. He was sobbing and completely incoherent.

"Alright Joe," I said, "it's okay. Calm down. I'm here. It's okay. Calm down now Joe. You're fine. Alright?" I sat with him like that for a few minutes and rocked him softly. I held him close until I could feel his heart slow down and his sobs soften.

"You okay now," I asked. He nodded yes and pulled away from me slightly, wiping the last few tears from his eyes. "Now tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry Dad. Really I am. I didn't mean to...not tell anyone...where I was going," he blurted out and started crying all over again.

"It's okay Joe. It's okay. It's done and over with now. There's nothing to be angry about. I'm not mad. Just tell me what happened. Okay? Take a few breaths and tell me."

"I just wanted to put air in my tires, Dad. John said he was gonna go riding today and I could go with him, and he never says I can come Dad so I was just excited and wanted to get over to the Gas station the second they opened. I rode slow Dad, I promise. And on the sidewalk like you always told me to. And I was fine on the way there and I filled my tires really quick. But on the way back I heard these loud tire sounds and then there was a car and then it was on top of me and I don't know what happened. I think my bike got squished Dad. I'm really sorry Dad. I'm really sorry," he finished and started crying all over again.

I pulled him in again and hugged him tight. "It's okay Joe. You're okay and that's all that matters. I'm just glad you're okay. Look at me," I said pulling away from him and holding his head between my hands, "That's all I care about okay. Don't worry about the bike. We'll get you another one."

He nodded and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his gown.

"Now you have to let the doctors finish looking you over. They have to take you down to X-Ray now and you need to let them take off your pants."

He pulled away from me instantly and jumped off the table, shaking his head hysterically.

"I can't Dad. No way. I can't. Don't make me! I'm not hurt I swear!" he said, raising his voice and clinging to his blue jeans.

"Joe they have to do their job. They have to check everything, just in case," I said.

"I can't take them off Dad. They'll laugh at me."

" Why would they laugh, Joe?"

He shock his head and turned away from me; backing himself into the corner, almost in a defensive position.

"You can tell me anything, Joe. I won't laugh I promise."

His tiny body sighed and he turned back around. He pulled up his hospital gown and undid his pants, letting them drop to the floor and revealing tiny, white underwear with big red hearts on them.

Little girls underwear to be exact.

"I couldn't find mine. All I could find were Annie's and I was in a hurry," he said, looking completely defeated and ashamed.

I kept a straight face, as I promised, but inside I was smiling from ear to ear. The predicament he found himself in--that he rationalized wearing his sisters underwear for just a quick ride, and no one would ever know it happened and then this happening. He must've felt pure panic when the nurses tried to remove his clothes knowing his secret would come out. I thought back to myself, growing up in a house with a lot of brothers and sisters and the hell they would've given me. I could see it all in his eyes in that moment.

"Don't tell anyone Dad. Please," he pleaded, with all the dignity he could muster.

I smiled and rustled his hair.

"I promise."

                                                                ********

"So he helped me out of the underwear and threw it in the trash and brought me home after," I concluded.

I was sitting at my parents kitchen table. Surrounded by my brothers and sisters, after our father's funeral. It was a long and tiring day but we had gotten through it as a family. Dad was always our rock and he would've wanted us all to stick together in this hard time. We did all we could to keep it together. But now everyone was gone and it was just us and our memories. We had been sitting around the table for hours reliving our childhoods and happy memories with Dad.

I finished my story and was expecting a huge barrage of laughter and jeers from my siblings. This was my most notorious childhood memory and one I never lived down in my mind. I was expecting to get reamed, especially by my brothers.

But I got nothing.

Dead stares from 7 sets of eyes.

"What," I asked, extremely confused.

They all looked at each other and then back to me.

"Joe, he never told us about that. This is the first we're hearing about it," my sister Ann--the same sister whose underwear I ran out of the house in that morning--said.

I was shocked. Most of my siblings were now silently crying or shaking their heads with a slight smile on their faces. But none of us said a thing. We were all thinking the same thing:

He kept his promise.

He never ratted me out or told anyone about that faithful summer morning. He took the promise he made to his youngest son so seriously that he never spoke of it again.

I didn't think it'd be possible for me to miss my father more then I already did. But in that moment the pain and longing to hug my father was almost unbearable.

I joined my siblings and let myself cry.

*Based on a true story about my Uncle Joe and my maternal grandfather*
:) Happy Father's Day all

xoxo