Woodstock Day Four
Woodstock
Day Four
Once we’d picked a good place for all of us to watch Hendrix, and I was positive I could find Leon again, Ron and I stole away to the back of the bowl, far enough from the music to talk without yelling.
We found two abandoned lawn chairs and turned them to face one another. It would have to be a short discussion, for now anyway. I missed Leon already.
As soon as we sat down, Ron twisted the tail of his T-shirt. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, like he was a bundle of nerves. His legs jiggled constantly.
“You’re as nervous as a cat,” I told him.
“I’ve got some heavy shit to tell you.”
He looked down at his feet, instead of at me, so I reached over and pressed my hands into his knees to ease the jiggling. “It’s okay, Ron. Just tell me.”
He chewed on his bottom lip, pondering his words, for what seemed like a full minute.
I became impatient. Leon was waiting. “Just say it, Ron.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Remember when I took my R I’m surprised he would consider admitting he’s wrong about anything.”
“We’ll see,” I said, unconvinced it would ever happen.
A memory of Dad holding my hand at the zoo when I was little crossed my mind. I saw love in his eyes while he handed me pink cotton candy on a long stick. He had tenderness in his voice when he told me the cotton candy was twice the size of my head.
The remembrance of my younger years with Dad filled me with a surprising warmth. “Dad hasn’t always been a monster.” Tears stung my eyes. “Maybe he does this stuff because he truly believes he’s saving us from burning in hell.”
Ron leaned toward me. “Our chaplain back in ’Nam says that’s bullshit.
When I told him I was gonna defect, even if it meant I’d burn in hell, he said God wouldn’t do that.
” He put his hands on my knees to meet my gaze.
“He said God loves us unconditionally, no matter what we’ve done.
And forgives us for all of it. All we have to do is believe. ”
“I wish your chaplain could talk to Dad.”