Feb 6, 2007 3 min read

He used to push me into groundhog holes. Generally pretty healthy, my parents, now in their 80s, have their problems associated with the vagaries of their age.

Arthritis keeps mother from doing some of the things she used to and dad is content to watch TV and work word puzzles and crosswords. They have regular medical checkups and, for the most part, have gotten good reports from their respective physicians.

Dad’s doctor, however, noticed something that needed further testing, which sent us to a hematologist. Initial blood tests showed he has low platelets and anemia. Everything else is fine: blood pressure is good, temperature is normal and all his other levels are in the proper range.

Initial blood work was inconclusive so we returned to the doctor for another test to see why his platelet count is lower than it should be.

His doctor scheduled him for a bone marrow biopsy.

Unfamiliar with this procedure, but savvy enough to realize that to reach marrow you have to get to the bone, I didn’t say anything about it but was worried it might be painful. Dad, naturally, came through it in his stoic style, wincing several times as the doctor first stuck him with a needle to numb the area and then worked a prod into his pelvis.

“You can hold his hand,’ the doctor quipped. “He probably held yours when you were young and needed something done at the doctor’s office.’

Well, I can’t remember dad holding my hand when I went to the doctor. In fact, it was usually mom who got that duty because dad was always at work when we had our appointments. What I remember dad doing when I was a kid is pushing me into groundhog holes.

He would also rub his rough, unshaven cheek against our tender skin as we kissed him goodnight and tell us silly jokes that he heard on the radio while driving to and from work.

The men in our family have never been overtly affectionate but there has never been any doubt about our feelings for each other.

So, as a child, my late brother, our dad, and I would take summer evening walks through the field behind our house. And, dad would gently nudge me into the first groundhog hole he’d see. I’d scream and hop out as quickly as he pushed me in. Never did I think he was doing it menacingly. He was showing me attention, his way of being affectionate. I screamed more out of glee than fear.

And, when we were kids, we’d always try to avoid getting the day-old beard-scrape by kissing him as quickly as we could.

We still tell each other silly jokes, based more on corniness than real humor.

But never let it be said we don’t show affection for one another in our family.

It’s just that there’s never a groundhog hole around when you need one.

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is business editor of the Herald-Standard. He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com