Personal Narrative- Listen

slowly churned the sputtering coals with the charred stick. There was no real purpose to my actions. The sad excuse of a fire did nothing to warm my mood. I contemplated going to get more wood but then lashed back at my own thoughts, “I shouldn’t be on this dumb camping trip anyway! My dad is the one who wanted to come “experience nature”; he can go get the wood.”As I stood glaring into the fire, I felt the bitter cold creeping over my backside. I turned to warm my freezing bottom. This was a grand idea at first, until of course my nose became akin to a popsicle. It was in this inopportune time of frustration that my father said, “Isn’t it so peaceful Clint, to have a chance to stop and listen to the world, a break from all the hub-ub and racket.”
At this point I thought, “Well, I could just stay quiet and suffer through this night, or I could enjoy the evening.” I chose the latter. “Well dad I do find it lovely to stop and listen. However, all I hear is the sound of a wasted weekend.” I retorted in a mock sincere tone. I turned to see my dad’s defeated face. “Great” I thought “now I feel bad too. Ugh.” We sat in silence for a while. I entertained myself with things I could have been doing if I was not busy playing mountain man with my dad. Yet, his face seemed distant.
I now felt thoroughly like a jerk so I tried to strike up a conversation. “It is pretty nippy out here, huh dad.” He paused for a second, bobbing his head as if listening to an unseen orchestra, then said “I reckon it is round’ forty degrees tonight.” I nodded my head and asked, “How did ya figure that out.” He let loose a low chuckle. Then, he looked up at me, and with the fire dancing in his eyes he said “that reminds me of a story you’re my dad told me when I was boy. Would you like to hear it?” “Honestly” I thought, “no I wouldn’t, but there was such love in those old brown eyes I couldn’t say no.” So I nodded my head.
“Well” my dad began slowly “on a night a might like this one a boy and his father were campin’. And, the son asked his dad the same question. His father told him to listen to the crickets for fifteen seconds and then add thirty-seven. The crickets know how cold it is the father explained. The boy, trusting his father, listened and did some quick calculations. He then blurted out “It is just a hair over thirty five degrees dad!” So they spent that evening and many evenings after listening to the crickets.”
I sat patiently listening to my dad. However, I could help but think, “Well, they could just buy a thermometer.” But, I did not voice my opinion and I kept listening to his little tale. My dad picked a stick and began fiddling with it as he went on. “Years later that little boy grew up and became a very rich and very influential business man. He worked in the busy sky scrapers of New York and always seemed to have papers in one hand and a phone in the other. The father, growin’ quite old now, flew to visit his son one weekend. The boy was very busy, but he cancelled a meeting so he could take his dad to lunch. As they were walking down the bustlin’ streets of the Big Apple the father stopped. The son turned about and said, “No father, the restaurant is further down.” The father’s eyes smiled as he said “Can you hear the cricket my boy?” The son looked around at the passin’ cabs and busy business men and women. Slightly exasperated now he said “Dad, this is New York, not the mountains.” The father turned to his left and crossed the street. His son was getting’ frustrated now, “I got a meeting at two” he thought, “I do not have time to play cub scouts with my dad.” He caught up with his father on the other side of the street but as he opened his mouth to chastise his father about his foolish fantasies. The father turned, and in his cupped hands laid a very small cricket. The son laughed and said “Well dad those new hearing aids you got are pretty impressive.”
“The father slowly shook his head and murmured “No, everyone can hear they just don’t listen.” He then reached into his old coat pocket and pulled out a handful of pennies. Raisin’ his arm to shoulder level he dropped the change on the busy New York Street. As the money clattered off the sidewalk every soul within twenty feet turned to look.” My dad stopped. He turned towards me, and those brown eyes seemed to be alive as he said, “You see my son, the problem lies not in the ears. No, the problem lies in the heart.”
I sat there for a long time after that; watching the fire dance around the logs, fighting back at the cold night. Then I said, “Well, it looks like it has gotten a little bit colder dad.” I turned and smiled “we’re down to thirty five.”