I was chowing down an apple when there was a knock on the waiting room door.

I had a half-hour before my next scheduled client. A man stood outside the door and inquired if I was the counselor. He apologized for the intrusion and asked for a few minutes of my time. He sat down and told me that his sister encouraged him to come. Neither she nor he had any experience with mental health counseling. He asked if he might make an appointment for himself. All he was willing to share was that it was a family matter. We agreed to a morning appointment for the following day. He introduced himself as Miquel, Jr. His sister, Alisa, would also join him tomorrow.

Both Miguel, Jr. and his sister, Alisa came to their scheduled appointment. They were early and I invited them to start ten minutes to the hour. The siblings looked at each other nervously. I looked at both before asking about the subject matter that brought them here. Alisa spoke up first.

“Our dad received news from the homeland, Puerto Rico, about the passing of someone he knew. Dad is a quiet and proud man. He’s a man of few words. When my brother and I received the news from our mother, her name is Anna, we asked about dad, of course. She said that he just sat quietly in his favorite chair. He didn’t talk even to our mother. This now has been several weeks. Dad is retired. He has a routine that he has stopped doing. He walks or drives, visits friends, and visits both of us. I’m married and we have three children. My brother, Miquel (we call him Junior) is married and they have two children. He has not visited any of us since the news. My brother and dad love Sunday football games. Dad told my brother not to come by to watch the game. He lost interest. There’s a lot of worry. Mother even called a couple of his good friends. Dad didn’t want visitors. We maintain contact with our mother on a regular basis. She talks to both of us daily. Mother says she’s never seen dad like this. They’ve been married over 40 years. Is that right Miguel?”

“Yes, that’s right. Forty-three to be exact. I remember that number because that’s the number on the jersey of his favorite football player. Like my sister said, our dad is a soft-spoken and proud man. He’s taught us both, I can say; more from example than by words like lectures. He worked his entire life in a factory. He did anything and everything he could to keep us with a home, food on the table, and opportunities for the family. At the retirement dinner the plant owner gave him, he spoke of dad’s example of hard work. What he had achieved was something no other worker had ever done.”

What’s that, Miguel?

“Dad, as the owner stated, had worked every conceivable job position in the company, ending with plant manager. Dad was the best they ever had. They told many stories of our dad, Miguel Sr. All of us attended the dinner and celebrated with dad. There wasn’t a dry eye left in the banquet room. Even the mayor and town council members were there. It was a big deal. Funny thing, dad had to be convinced to go. He figured that he did what he was supposed to do for his family.”

Your characterization of your dad is remarkable. He sounds like a man worthy of recognition.

“You know, when you say the word recognition, I look back. I think Junior does, too, to a man, our father, who didn’t look for recognition. Can I tell you a story to help you understand this man?”

Certainly, may I call you Junior?

“Yes, Sir. Our dad loved sports. He played some sports, especially baseball and softball back in Puerto Rico, where he grew up. He didn’t say much about playing except his love for the game. He enjoyed watching games on television. He would make a comment about a player’s hitting performance. We’d watch with him and for a few years, we had no interest. I played at the park with friends, kind of a neighborhood get-together. Between the whole group we barely owned mitts, bats, and balls. Dad might come to the park as a part of an after dinner walk with our dog Mo. He’d walk by the field, stop to wave hello, and continue his walk. Sometime he and Mo stopped to watch us play. Remember, we weren’t a formal team, just a bunch of guys playing baseball. One of my friends, Rick, was a terrible hitter. Every slow pitch, he’d strike out or hit the ball weakly. When Rick came up to bat, in our minds we thought this would be an automatic out. Rick was, sometimes, frustrated at his performance.”

“Oh, my God, Junior; I know what you’re about to say. Go on.”

“The bases were loaded and up came Rick. In our minds, an automatic out. There were two outs already. Dad tied up Mo to a fence stake and without any words spoken, stood next to Rick. Everyone looked at me as if to say, what’s your dad doing? He’s disrupting the game. I was embarrassed. Dad looked Rick in the eye, took his bat and demonstrated a stance. He made sure Rick understood and then handed him back the bat. Dad picked up Mo and continued his walk. Rick, the easy out, swung and laced the ball overhead of the center fielder who was in a shocked standstill. Grand slam, baby! Rick’s smile tore us up. We all fell over laughing and patting Rick on the back. Dad, by then was out of sight.”

What a story. What do you say about coming with your dad, if he’ll come, next week?

“OK.”

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.