The Hill Man’s Blogspot

Welcome Home

It was getting dark outside and dinner was almost ready; Dad would be home soon.

When I heard the rumble of the garage opening, it was time to take action. There were two different ways I would greet my dad at night when he finally got home from work. Option one was to wait in the living room for him to walk into the doorway. From the living room I could see him open the laundry room door and then enter the kitchen. Bam! As soon as I saw him come in, I would be off. It was like his entering the room set off a race gun; I would run and run to see if I could get to Daddy faster than I had the previous night. Quickly, he would put down his box of papers, his work, and kneel on the tiled floor, under the opening to the kitchen, in preparation for my impending arrival. 3, 2, 1, Jump! I was in his arms in no time. Then up he would lift me and hug me and kiss me and ask me how my day was, me before anyone else, because I am his baby.

On the evenings when I was more tuckered out from exhaustive days at elementary school, there was always option two: hide and seek. Rather than waiting in the living room, I would crouch underneath the kitchen table. I squeezed myself in tightly between the white legs and the crossbar that ran along the bottom of the table between the legs. The table’s two wide legs and chairs acted as my shield, as I sat, slightly giggling waiting for Daddy to come in.

My mom and sister would calmly sit at the table, our hot dinner waiting to be eaten. I would sit there hugging my knees, looking through the cracks of the chair at the open space in the kitchen, the spot where my dad would soon be standing. Daddy would walk in, say hello to everyone, give each a kiss, and ask how their day went. Then he would realize someone was missing; I was not there! “Where’s Bri?” he would ask my mom. “I don’t know,” my mom would respond. Daddy would take a few minutes to “search” for me until finally, when his back was turned toward me, I would pop out from under the table, “scaring” him and bringing a smile to his face all at once. Daddy would act so shocked, as if I did not play this trick every other night of the week. “There’s my Bri B!” he would exclaim, with open arms.

Filed by Mr. Hillman at March 28th, 2008 under Wait until your father gets home! Tales of family...