A Good Heart to Lean on

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When I was growing up, I was embarrassed to be seen with my father. He was severely crippled and very short, and when we would walk together, his hand on my arm for balance, people would stare. I would inwardly squirm at the un-wanted attention. If he ever noticed or was bothered, he never let on. It was difficult to coordinate our steps —— his halting, mine impatient —— and because of that, we didn't say much as we went along. But as we started out, he always said, "You set the pace. I will try to adjust to you. " Our usual walk was to or from the subway, which was how he got to work. He went to work sick, and despite nasty weather. He almost never missed a day, and would make it to the office even if others could not. A matter of pride. When snow or ice was on the ground, it was impossible for him to walk, even with help. At such times my sisters or I would pull him through the streets of Brooklyn, NY, on a child's sleigh to the sub-way entrance. Once there, he wo