And the Moral of the Story Is...

It's the little things.

It's the little things that can get to you.

Today, for example: I was at Useless Retail Job. I recently decided that if they are going to schedule me by myself for my entire eight-hour shift, just to save money, I would do the barest minimum of work required of me. Normally, I look for extra work, I volunteer, I organize and straighten things and am generally a Retail Heroine. But not today. I decided to do a crossword puzzle while waiting for customers to walk by or the phone to ring. Ha! My little rebellion.

Anyways--I'm doing a crossword, and I come across a clue, 33 Down: "'Slow and steady wins the race,' for one." It's five letters, and at first I think, proverb? No, too long. Adage? But the letters don't fit. Eventually I realize it's "Moral," as in "the moral of the story is."

I suddenly had a flashback moment from my childhood. I remembered that my dad used to tell me a story before tucking me into bed when I was little. I have memories, from later years, of him coming home from work after I already went to bed. The sound of the garage door always woke me up. But maybe, back when we were young enough to want him to tuck us in, he always came home in time.

My very favorite of the stories he used to tell me were The Ugly Duckling and a story about a Donkey. I don't remember the second one well--I think it involved, like The Ugly Duckling, a donkey who had been raised among racehorses and always felt bad about himself because he wasn't as fast as the other horses. Then one day the farmer needed something that only the donkey could do--pull things? What are donkeys good at, anyways? And the donkey learned he wasn't a racehorse but he was still important and he had his own special skills.

But here comes the part I loved the most: at the end of the story, each night, I would gleefully chant the conclusion along with my dad, "And the moral of the story is: don't judge a book by its cover!" I loved this moral, I think, mostly because it mentioned books. And because I always felt like the Ugly Duckling, with my red hair and my lack of interest in either sports or makeup. But it was okay, I knew, because Dad's nightly story taught me that I was actually a beautiful swan. And that you should definitely, never ever judge a book by its cover.

Most of my strong memories of my Dad are recent: my graduation, his "professor" voice, our trip to Maine, Dad at work in his study. Dad riding his bike or talking about medicine or listening to the Reds game on the radio. Or working in the yard. On the flip side of these memories, regretfully, I see myself sailing along past him, in a big hurry to watch tv or text someone.

When you lose someone suddenly, or even if it isn't sudden, sometimes you can feel like they are fading away into the mists of time. You can feel like every step forward is a step away from them. You can feel like every memory you have is just a missed opportunity to say the things that matter.

Every once in a while, though, you are gifted with a strong, pure memory from long ago, like The Moral of the Story Is. I'd forgotten about it. I'd forgotten those nighttime moments. The shiver of joy I'd get from an emotionally satisfying story (It's still the same, today.) The moment of anticipation--"is it time to say And The Moral of the Story Is yet?" Then the satisfaction of another story and another day neatly wrapped up and concluded. After that, I could slip off peacefully into my childish dreams.