The Good Days

There were days before everything went bad, before Dad started drinking again. Days I look back on fondly.

I found Mom in the living room playing the piano. I think she was playing one of her pieces, one that she had written for something. She saw me walk in clad in my footy pajamas. "Aaron the Great, come and play with me". She said, not in a creepy movie doll way, but a warm inviting way. I crawled on the piano bench and sat next to her looking at the way her fingers danced across the keys so gently.

"I can do that too, Momma!" I exclaimed, bouncing on the seat, ready to show her just what I could do. "Well then show me". She laughed, taking her fingers off the keys. I placed my hands on the high keys, right where I remember her placing them on the low keys one day. I started to hear a melody in my head, one that I'm sure you've heard before. Ode To Joy played like an old record in my head as I tapped the keys on the piano.

After the last key I pressed down I looked up at Mom, who was smiling from ear to ear. She looked so proud looking down at me with a glow only a mother could have for her child. She gathered me up in a tight hug. "You're a star, Aaron. And you'll be great someday. Aaron the Great". She whispered to me. I giggled as her breath tickled my ear and she attacked me with a bout of tickling.

Our game was stopped short when we both heard the front door slam and drunken footfalls get closer. "Go up to your room, Aaron. Now". I knew better than to argue, and made my way up the carpeted steps. I didn't hear them fight, but I heard the soft sounds of Mom crying late that night.

Dad, against my better judgement, was a good Dad in the early days. Tee ball was our thing, and ice cream after it.

It was a game that my coach was hyping us up for all month. The game that led into the championships. Or, the little league equivalent. I was up to bat next, the first left handed kid coach had that year. I tightened my grip on the bat as the pitcher reared his arm back and launched the ball at me. I waited just long enough and then swung my bat as hard as I could. The ball zoomed across the field, flying across the orange spray painted lines the coach had put down. The kids weren't supposed to go that far out.

It was a home run! That parents were cheering as I ran across all the bases, jumping once I got to home. My coach smiled and gave me a high five. "Nice job, Aaron! You keep playing like that, you'll make it to the Major Leagues!" I giggled and walked to the dugout where my friend Daniel was sitting. "Dang, Aaron! That was so cool! I wish I could hit like that". Daniel exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear. "You'll get there, Danny! You just gotta practice. Me and you; we'll make to the Major Leagues!" I said, confident that everything I said that day as a four year old, was true.

We won that game 2 to 0. Coach was so proud he treated us to McDonalds that afternoon. The praise from Coach and my team made my heart swell, but what I really wanted, what I desperately needed, was praise from Dad.

After we left that McDonald's, Dad drove us to Frank's Shake Shop, the ice cream parlor we visited after practices. He ordered us our regulars; Chocolate Vanilla swirl for me, plain vanilla for him. We sat on the curb eating our ice cream as the sun dipped below the horizon. A perfect day in my eyes. Dad broke the comfortable silence with a phrase I'll always remember. "I'm proud of you, Son. That was a damn good hit out there". I smiled from ear to ear as I took a bite of the cone. "Thanks, Dad", I said, looking back at the sunset.

Those were the good days. The days that four year olds should have. The days that shouldn't go away as you get older. The days you should take with you everywhere you go. But those good days didn't last, they never do. Not really.

This is my story. The story of Aaron Anderson turned Aaron Withers. A story of a boy who met a girl who saved him. The story of pain and sorrow, turned happiness and hope. This is my story as much as it is yours. This is our story.

So, Melissa and Micah and Adam. This is for you. Our story.

Love,

Dad