Debbie Harpham
The Joy of Giving
(First printed in Better Homes and Gardens)
My hero, their hero – a tribute to my father
By Falguni Kothari
The world was a predawn watercolor, the morning Papa woke me. Ready for our adventure, baby? he whispered in my ear, Mama watching us with sleepy eyes. Eagerly, my five-year-old feet tried to keep up with Papa’s lanky strides eating up the pavement, his face shivering with laughter. When I lagged, he scooped me up in his capable, gentle arms. I wrapped pudgy ones around his neck, pressed a cheek against my favorite spot on his shoulder. He smelled of coconut oil and baby powder and joy.
My hero.
We reached the temple on a yawn. I raised my head, frowned. Praying wasn’t an adventure! But we didn’t go inside to walk circles or ring a bell. We marched past a line of a thousand beggars, their hungry backs pressed against God’s wall. They greeted Papa. Joked with him! He introduced me as his joy, his blessing. I stared, openmouthed. We reached a chaiwallah’s shop. Smiling, Papa set me down, handed me contraband. Mama will be angry if I drink chai and have pav, I said primly, though secretly thrilled. It was an adventure! Papa guffawed, sunrays kissing his face. It’s for them, he said, pointing at the line of beggars, another chai glass and pav plate in his hands. Go on! Serve them, baby.
Their hero.
My limbs were twigs quivering in the wind as I walked in Papa’s shoes. My arms, mirrors of his, stretching forward and retreating. Stretching and retreating like Mama’s did when she practiced Yoga. They spoke like old friends—Papa and these poor people. My ears were parched dry earth, soaking up the stories raining from their mouths. A good man. A promise-keeper. A God’s man.
Our hero.
At last, we sat, my lap overflowing with a plate of pav and a glass of chai that was our secret. But worry kept me from taking a bite from my good fortune. Who serves them when you travel for work, Papa? Was that why they looked feeble? Did no one take care of them when he was away? I needed to understand. Papa laughed, his eyes shining with an emotion that made my chest swell with joy. I adored when Papa looked at me with hearts in his eyes. I will have this party every morning, Papa, I promised solemnly.
That morning I realized that joy was an adventure, too. More, it was a privilege.