The Whistle

I was maybe five or six when I stole the whistle.

Dad stopped at the corner store almost every night - a quart of milk, a loaf of bread - there was always something needed at home. He liked the tiny neighborhood markets - they were poorly lit, crammed with every kind of odd and end, and never crowded. That night, he bought whatever he'd been sent for, made a little small talk with the owner and paid. And I pocketed a red, blue and yellow pipe whistle. Halfway home, I began to play it and at the noise, he looked into the rear view mirror with a smile that immediately turned to a frown. He pulled over slowly and stopped the car then turned to face me.

A few moments later, we were back at the tiny market. He led me around the counter and lifted me onto a stool. I was at eye level with the owner, the whistle still in my hand. I held it out to him and he took it. I felt a gentle pressure on my back, heard Dad clear his throat. I stammered out an apology and began to cry and the owner smiled but Dad's face didn't change. He lifted me down and walked me out without a word.

My daddy had never raised his voice to me, let alone his hand but that night I prayed for a whipping. The disappointment in his eyes was crushing and even though it was gone the next morning, I thought I would remember it forever. Cross my heart and hope to die, I whispered to my stuffed tiger, I'll never make him look at me that way again.

It was a well intentioned promise and one I tried to keep but too many things got in the way. "Someone at this table," my mother said during supper and with unmistakable menace in her voice, "Someone has taken ten dollars from my purse." I felt my throat start to close up as my daddy slowly put down his silverware and looked around the table. Across from me, one brother looked surprised while the other looked down to hide a smirk. My daddy sighed. "Are you sure?" he asked her and she snarled back at him "One of these brats is a thief!" There was a long silence while he studied his plate and she drummed her fingers on the tablecloth. "Well?" she demanded, "What are you going to do about it?"

He sighed again and then reluctantly sent all of us to our rooms. I knew then that I would take the blame as surely as I knew which brother had taken the money and hatred quickly erased any fear of the punishment to come.

It was swift and his heart wasn't in it. Dry eyed, I watched him leave my room and thought I would never look at his disappointment the same way again.