Who's Your Daddy?

I was driving my dad to the doctor for a follow-up exam after his out patient surgery. The surgery had been 3 days before Christmas. It was now two days after. The catheter was to be removed after almost a full week. He was impatient with it but at least it allowed him to sleep through the night. At 88 years old, you take pleasure in those little things the rest of us take for granted.

He was sifting through his mail as I drove. He held up a padded manila envelope. "This is from my black friend, Arthur." My black friend! As if that qualifier were somehow important. He never referred to anyone else as "my Jewish friend", or "my Italian friend". But Arthur was always "my black friend"! Which didn't seem to parse because from the earliest I can remember race meant nothing to my dad. When, in college, I brought a black girl friend home, neither he nor my mother flinched. The girl was welcome in our house, at our table. The color of her skin was a non-issue.


"Did I ever tell you what happened between us?" my dad asked.

"No!"


"This was in the sixties, I think. Maybe the early seventies when we met. It was at Adel Precision. he came around one day mopping the floors and we got to talking. I remember he lived in a dangerous area of Compton, I think. We had the horses in common and we figured one day we'd run into each other at the races. So one Saturday he comes in all dressed up and I ask him what's up. He says he asked for the day off to go to the track. So I told him there was a horse in the sixth that I knew nothing about but I liked the name. I gave him $20 and told him to bet it to win. He wanted me to bet across the board, which is a safer bet, but I told him just to win. Well, the odds were over 20 to 1. And the horse won! So I'm figuring it out and the payoff is about $480. But I have to wait till Monday to collect. 


Well, when he came in Monday morning I knew something was wrong. He was afraid to look me in the eye. He said "you have no reason to believe me but I didn't think the horse had a chance so I bet your money on another."


He was so upset that I just told him to forget it. He swore he'd pay me back some day but I told him not to worry about it.


Shortly after that, the plant shut down and we were all let go. He came to say good-bye and I happened to ask why he was working as a janitor. 'You're no dummy', I said. But he just shrugged. Well, about six months later I get a letter from him. Inside is a check for $500. The following Christmas he sent me a cherck for $50 as a thank you for the advice I gave him. He was now working as a shop foreman. All I did was ask why he was a janitor. I didn't give him any advice.


Now I hear from him every Christmas. He always sends me a little something.


My black friend, Arthur.