The Promise

Written by Robert H. Miller

This article is courtesy of Mature Living magazine

I remember the day my mother and stepfather were married. I was 8 years old and happy to have a father for the first time in my life. The only disappointment of the day was that I could not go with them on their honeymoon.

As soon as they returned, my father officially adopted me and changed my name to Miller.

My adopted father was a mechanic in the U.S. Air Force, and as a result, we moved around the country on a regular basis. Shortly after my 10th birthday, we relocated to a northern town near the Canadian border. My father had been selected to work on the T-33 Silver Star, a jet trainer for student pilots. By this time my parents had saved enough money for a down payment on a small bungalow in the middle of town.

The winter of 1954 was very cold on the wind-blown prairie. An old coal furnace that seemed to take up the entire basement heated our home. It resembled an octopus, with its tentacles reaching out to all parts of the house, and if it could talk, it would constantly be screaming for more food.

On a cold evening in late January, Dad asked me to go to the basement and help him add more coal to the furnace. On the way down, he grabbed a couple of plates, knives, some salt, and a container of butter from the kitchen. As soon as we were downstairs, he told me to go to the potato bin and select two of the largest potatoes I could find.

Using large, heat-resistant gloves, he opened the furnace door and threw in several shovel loads of coal. Then, with a long set of furnace tongs, he placed the potatoes in the middle of the coals.

We took two old lawn chairs that were leaning against the basement wall and sat down in front of the furnace. Together we had our first father–and–son talk, and Dad made me a promise that night that I have never forgotten.

He told me that Mom was pregnant and before long we would have a new baby in the house. He asked me if I was ready to be a big brother. After he saw the big smile on my face, he knew I was.

He told me that he was proud of me and that our new baby would be fortunate to have me as a big brother. No matter what the future would bring, he would continue to be proud of me and to love me.

In a solemn voice, Dad promised that even though we were not blood-related, he would treat and love me as though I were his naturally born son. At that point of the conversation, we both stood up and gave each other a big, loving hug.

Our talk finished, Dad took out the potatoes and put them on a plate. They were totally black on the outside; but once cut in half, saturated with melted butter, and sprinkled with a hint of salt, they were delicious.

Even though that talk took place 47 years ago, I still remember it as if it were yesterday. I will never forget that evening in the basement with my father. He’s been gone now for more than two years, but one thing is certain. He kept his promise, and I’ll always love him for that.

Robert H. Miller is retired from the Canadian Armed Forces in Cold Lake, Alberta, Canada. 

Share your thoughts with other readers:  Post Comments   Rate this Article