(37) Of Mallards and Men

Strings of chords and renditions of familiar melodies float through the air as I sit entranced by my father’s hands that glide and tap across the ivory keys. His silver watch gleams from the sunlight streaming through the fluffy white curtains next to us as he taps his foot rhythmically on top of the gold pedal. The expression imprinted on his face is peaceful and subdued as he creates divine beauty through the use of sounds. “Aaaal those loonely niights.” He begins to sing, his deep voice resonating into my very soul so that all is forgotten. I can’t tell completely whether or not he even knows I am there next to him, but I watch him with amazement and immediate love.

I instantly recognize this particular melody, it is one of many that I have grown up listening to. Twenty years ago, my father was a musician and his talent and love for music has influenced me and my sister ever since then. Hundreds of compositions have collected dust over the years though, and as the importance of business and the stock market have taken priority in our family’s life, these familiar tunes have been forgotten and the moments of my dad sitting at his piano lost in his own creations have been scarce. Glancing up at my father’s one record label that hangs on the wall above us, I want nothing more than to remain here all night in my favorite room of the house, listening to my father play. Homework, dishes, sleep means nothing to me as I perch on that bench, entranced by the agility and nimbleness of my dad’s fingers.

Almost has magically as it started, it stops and my dad peers up at me quizzically. “What’s up, Daria?”

I look down at the yellow gingham dish towel laying in my lap, completely filled with shame that I was the reason that this magic was put to an end. “I, I was wondering what to do with the moldy bread in the cabinet.” Minutes before I had put my hand to my mouth in horror at the sight of it, while standing in the midst of threatening plates, glasses, and pots. Now, the bag of overdue slices seems insignificant.

“I’m not sure what to do with it.” He sighs.

“Should I just throw it out then?” I reply, twisting the cloth in my hands.

I father looks up at me in thought. “Why don’t we just go give it to the ducks.”

I gaze up at my dad in astonishment. Clearly he is joking. We haven’t fed the ducks since I was five years old! I realize that he is completely serious though, and so I begin to protest. “Dad, no offense or anything, but don’t you think I’m a little old to be going to the park and feeding ducks?”

“How old are you?” My father turns his body to face me now on the piano bench.

“Sixteen.” I reply automatically, this isn’t the first time my own father has no idea how many years his daughter has been living on the earth.

“Is sixteen too old to show kindness and generosity?” I look at him in shock. Personally I don’t see how anyone can find any connection between tossing some stale pieces of bread to a bunch of lazy ducks and showing kindness, but I know better than to protest. “I’ll grab the keys then, and you snatch the bread, Daria.” My father slides off the bench and walks out of the music room, leaving me to stare after him in complete puzzlement.

It isn’t long before we cruise through the entrance to the park. We take my father’s car even though he lets me drive and soon we are walking side by side down the grassy hill towards the nearby pond. The sun is starting to slowly descend behind the waving trees, robbing us of warm sunlight and whipping cold breezes across our faces and arms. I slip on my father’s fleece with his company logo, and wriggle my arms inside of it so that only the sleeves are hanging at my sides.

“Why are boys so complicated?” I ask as I rip off another chunk of country white and hurl it to an anxious mallard. I am sitting on the edge of the dock, letting my legs dangle so that my feet rest just above the rippling water. I watch the foul skim the surface of the pond, until it reaches the prized piece of food and then it gobbles it up with quick motions of its sharp beak.

“Well why are girls so complicated?” My dad hands me another slice, with a chuckle where he is stretched out next to me.

The gazebo stands behind him and out of the corner of my eye I can see a man and his dog approaching it.

I breathe in, preparing to support my statement. “Boys have no guts around here. All they care about is looking manly and giving the impression that no one can influence them in any way” I laugh. They have no understanding, no sensitivity, no loyalty. You can pour out your whole heart to them and they can just completely ignore you.” I thrust another piece of bread closer to where I am perched, wondering how close I can get these ducks to come to me. “Maybe it’s just stupidity.” I finish with a smile.

“Maybe,” My father grins, “or it could just be intimidation. Sometimes it’s difficult for guys, especially when girls are so talented and charming.”

“You forgot stunningly beautiful, dad.” I reply giggling as he tousles my hair. We sit, lost in the peace and serenity of the environment. As a male mallard silently follows the trail of bread I have left for him, he is so close to me that I can almost touch him. His head is of deepest green that shimmers like satin and a perfect ring of white encircles his protruding neck. Suddenly I feel my father’s eyes upon me.

“You know, Daria. I guess it’s just like feeding ducks.”

“What?” I look at him completely lost.

“Well, you can’t expect him to instantly trust you. You start by throwing the bread a ways off, then a little closer, then closer still. Eventually you’ll have him eating out of your hand because, he said smiling a coy little grin, that’s just how us guys are. I am always amazed at how my father knows just what to say and say it in such a way that ordinary moments become life-long lessons. I throw the bread to farthest end of the little pond and the duck follows the ripples, pecks enthusiastically at the water and then swims under the dock, out of eyesight, out of reach. “I seem to have that effect on guys.” We both laugh as Dad scoops me up in his arms like he was done for as long as I can remember. “Not all guys Daria. You’ll tame one sooner or later.” And with that we begin our walk back to the car.