My father’s best Birthday

“Though nobody can go back and make a new beginning, anyone can start over and make a new ending.”

One of my fondest memories of my Father was on his birthday when I was in my forties. Many many years after our weekly fishing trips to Lenape Park in Chadds Ford Pa.  Everyone in our family knew how notoriously difficult he was to please as a gift recipient. No matter how hard we tried, everyone in the family dreaded the moment when he would open his presents. It seemed like he had a consistent reaction every time, unwrapping the gift with a shake of his head, giving us a skeptical look, and saying the same words, “Why did you waste your money on this? I don’t need this.” It got to the point where we gave up on giving him birthday presents altogether. However, there was one gift, one birthday, that changed everything.

Before I can share the story of the gift that finally brought this tough old bird to near tears, I must provide you with some context. My father

Me

The lost Bayonet

The Diner

Our Kayak 

approached parenthood with the same dedication and determination as a CEO of a large corporation. There wasn’t a single day I can recall when he let his guard down, especially when it came to raising his youngest child, me. Every day was an opportunity for a new experience, a lesson, a story, or some advice that would prepare me for life. Even activities as seemingly simple as fishing with him were meticulously planned and executed.

Fishing with my father was like watching a skilled master carpenter prepare for a day’s work. Everything had to be just right—the weather, the equipment, the bait, the timing, the exact location, and, of course, where we would have breakfast. From a young age, it never occurred to me how much of a sacrifice it was for him to spend nearly every Saturday during the spring and fall season fishing with me. We would always go to the same fishing hole under the bridge at Lenape Park and our breakfast spot of choice was the famous Hank’s Place diner—a humble, greasy spoon along Rt 1 in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. Little did I know, or care at the time, that we were sharing the space with renowned artists Andrew and Jamie Wyeth and their family. I often wish I had known then, as I would have asked them for a signed sketch on a napkin or something.

Our fishing adventures would begin before the sun came up, as we aimed to catch large grasshoppers that nestled atop tall grass next to the parking lot above the bridge crossing the Brandywine creek at Lenape Park. These grasshoppers were a favorite delicacy for the largemouth bass, crappies, and bluegills we sought. It was my responsibility to bring all the fishing equipment that my father insisted on having. I jokingly referred to him as “Inspector Gadget” because of the multitude of gear he brought along. We never left the house without five or six fishing rods, just in case. Our tackle boxes were filled with every imaginable lure, although I can’t recall ever catching a fish with artificial bait. We had hooks of all sizes and styles, weights, extra fishing line, and a creel that was never used because we never kept any fish. You name it, we had it—there was even a large, fully stocked first aid kit for handling any emergency that might arise. But the most impressive item I remember was my father’s prized possession—a mint condition WWII USK-0006 Krag Jorgensen Army Bayonet. He would bring this piece of history along with us to cut down any brush we encountered along the creek and, as he would say, for “self-defense” if the need arose.

Each day went the same way, after a morning of fishing we finished at around noon and ate the packed lunch my Mom prepared for us the night before, After lunch we would stop in the park and get an ice cream sandwich. My father would sometime let me have a round of 22 Cal shooting at the steel shooting gallery that Lenape Park had, that was more fun than fishing for me. On a few times we would rent a canoe at the parks rental center above the waterfalls,

However, there was one day that etched itself into my memory and haunted me for the rest of my life.  As we were unpacking our equipment later that day at home, my father posed a question that struck fear into my heart: “Richard!” (that’s what he called me), “Did you remember to bring my bayonet home?” At that moment, I knew I was

in big trouble. I looked at him, tears welling up in my eyes, and I knew I had made a grave mistake. You see, my father never raised a hand to hit me, nor did he ever use foul language in front of me. But his disappointment and stern voice were enough to leave a lasting impact. He called my mistake “carelessness,” emphasizing that men couldn’t afford to be careless in life. I couldn’t help but recall a similar phrase uttered by Don Corleone to Michael Corleone in the movie “The Godfather.” It stung even more because my father had always instilled in me the values of responsibility and attention to detail.

I carried the weight of that mistake with me throughout my life. My father would occasionally bring it up, always on the lookout for a replacement bayonet, but he never found one that matched the original. However, fate had something special in store for us in 1999 when my father was 78 years old, and I was 42. That something was eBay—a platform where treasures from the past could be discovered and acquired.

One day, while browsing through the listings, I stumbled upon a mint condition WWII USK-0006 Krag Jorgensen Bayonet. It was as if the stars had aligned, presenting me with an opportunity to mend the wound of that childhood mistake. Without a second thought, I placed my bid and anxiously waited. When the package arrived just in time for his birthday, I knew it was the moment of truth.

As my father unwrapped the gift, his eyes widened, and he stared at the bayonet in disbelief. He looked up at me, a mix of astonishment and joy on his face, even though I left it at the stream over thirty years ago he asked, “Did you find this at Lenape Park?” I chuckled, a warmth filling my heart, and embraced him tightly. In that moment, I knew I had finally nailed a gift for him, a gift that held sentimental value and reminded him of our cherished fishing expeditions.

That birthday became a turning point in our relationship. From that day forward, my father cherished the bayonet and proudly displayed it as a symbol of our shared memories and the love we had for each other. It became a physical representation of the bond we had forged through fishing trips and life lessons.

His Birthdays took on a whole new meaning in our family. It was a celebration of not only the joy and warmth of the reminder of the enduring love between a father and his child. And as I reflect on that special gift, I am grateful for the opportunity to have brought my father a small piece of the past, allowing us to connect on a deeper level and create a lasting memory that would carry us through the years to come.