Tag Archives: prose

from Meeting Dad by Brian Russell

Meeting Dad

I held the small, blue piece of paper in my hand. In my mother’s instantly recognizable cursive, I read the name Bob Jaycox and his address in Puerto Rico. Puerto Rico? I thought. What an exotic place. Below the address in Mom’s left-handed slanted script were ten numbers. Ten numbers that might end eleven years of estrangement from my father.

I dialed zero.

The operator answered, and in as strong a voice as I could muster, I began, “Yes, I’d like to make a person-to-person collect call.”

“What number sir?”

I gave her the number.

“For whom are you calling?”

“Bob Jaycox.”

“And who shall I say is calling?”

“Brian Weston Russell.”

I used my middle name because I was afraid he might not know who I was if I simply said Brian Russell.

After a moment, the phone began to ring.

A woman with a strong Southern accent answered. The operator droned, “I have a person-to- person collect call for Bob Jaycox from Brian Weston Russell. Is Mr. Jaycox available?”

Silence.

The lady with the accent stammered, “Yes, uh, yes he is. Will you hang on a minute?”

“I’ll hold,” the operator replied in her detached voice.

A few seconds later, I heard a voice say, “This is Bob Jaycox.”

The operator repeated her spiel, and after the briefest of pauses, he said, “Well, I surely will!”

The operator told me that we were connected. Indeed, after all this time, we now were.

Brian Russell,
Meeting Dad
Accents Publishing

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from Meeting Dad by Brian Russell

About an hour later, Mom and Dad ushered me into Dad’s study. It was a cluttered room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookcases overflowing with books. Every surface in the room was covered in piles of books, magazines, large manila envelopes, and dozens of lined yellow pads of paper. This was Dad’s inner sanctum and a place that was absolutely offlimits to the kids. He’d told us on more than one occasion that if he caught us in his study, “the belt will wail tonight.” (He borrowed that line from a Bill Cosby routine, but none of us doubted that he meant it. Nor did we think it was funny when he said it.)

Being allowed to use the study didn’t mean I could sit in Dad’s desk chair. That was still strictly off-limits. Rather, he pulled a chair into the sacred room and cleared a small section of the desk, moving the phone so I could reach it from where I sat. Scott listened in on the upstairs phone. Mom stood behind me.

Brian Russell,
Meeting Dad
Accents Publishing

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