PALISADES PARK1
Summer. Heat. Periodic emptiness and quiet afternoons. Sometimes going “downstairs” and stepping outside onto Cabrini Boulevard was like walking into the dry heat of the much spoken-of oven. Together with the stillness and silence of the one way, nearly dead-end street (you could only turn east on 178th Street), there were few better comparisons. The noises, the people, the activity on hot July and August days seemed to be sucked away along with any semblance of comfortable temperatures or amenable air. On some late mornings and early afternoons the vacant sidewalks of the block between 177th and 178th Streets brought the Devil’s Anvil, or Frying Pan, or any number of implements, to mind. And when no friends were out, there were few diversions from the discomfort; few amusements. It was too hot to play. No breezes blew.2
There were, however, occasional distractions. On long oppressively hot weekends during those days when air conditioning was not a commonplace feature in Washington Heights apartments, my father-who was not a movie goer-would offer to treat my mother and me to “an air-conditioned movie”. It did not matter what was playing. And the gleeful surprise of this was sustained, sometimes over an entire three day holiday weekend, when we saw not one or two, but three days of films. In the forties and fifties, with double features, this was no fewer than six films, not to mention newsreels and selected short subjects. Sometimes it was better than going away. It killed entire afternoons; certainly it was cheaper. But it simply occurred when my father got on a kick; that is, found something that worked. 3
In those pre-air-conditioned apartment days, when drives out of the city were not options because we did not own a car, some choices that required little travel, expense or arrangements, still remained as desperate attempts to escape the heat. One of these was an afternoon on the rooftop in hopes of catching a zephyr; another was a picnic along the Henry Hudson Parkway for which my father prepared a small cooler of his famous Tom Collins. I am confident he carried the gin separately but the elixir in the jug, no more than ice cubes and Canada Dry Tom Collins Mix, tasted special, forever to be associated with cool grassy picnics; the glory of the Hudson to the west, the great bridge to the north. 4
There were days when a walk over the entire span of the George Washington beckoned. The heat had to be a bit more moderate, for the walk was considerable, although there were the promises of breezes, watery vistas and the wonderful assurances of a little refreshment stand at the end of the bridge in Fort Lee, New Jersey. It was here you could get Coca-Cola in the small green glass bottle, and the unique foot-long hot-dog, boiled in oil; the reward of a summer day, the rainbow at the end of the bridge. 5
But looking west from the span of the great bridge revealed wonders greater than the little refreshment stand. From the north side of the bridge you could see the bright neon blue and red of Bill Miller’s Riviera; an oasis of adult festivity and gaiety, a night club, whose home was in the Garden State of New Jersey, embraced by space and a view of the river, not the grim, subway accessible crowdedness of downtown New York City. This place was more appealing, romantic and magical. It was fresher, but as yet, a mystery. Riviera!6
Looking to the southwest, as we often could on clear days in our neighborhood, there was the wonderful visual whisper of fun, the suggestion of joy across the Hudson, as the top of the great cyclone teased our eye and imagination with Palisades Amusement Park. It was something far away, mythical. Yet you could almost touch it as hopes brought it within reach. 7
Sometime just before the close of school, with the approach of summer, certain discount tickets for Palisades Park materialized in the neighborhood. They were printed to look like real tickets and bore the illusion of Free Ticket to Palisades Amusement Park. Of course, the tickets were themselves given away as free, but only provided a small discount with the general admission. And perhaps an additional discount was given on certain rides or attractions. I was very impressed with these attractive looking tickets and began to collect them until I had amassed what I thought to be a fortune in discounts. It took awhile before I realized the tickets didn’t amount to much and gave up the dream of somehow cashing-in at the gate. But just the look of the Palisades logo and the graphics…the word “amusement”…; the holding of tickets to Palisades…. 8
One summer day somehow I prevailed. My father, not especially a fan of amusement parks, took my mother and me to New Jersey and Palisades Amusement Park. 9
It was the kind of day you might expect at an amusement park. Rides, cotton candy and games of skill and chance. In retrospect, it seems sad trying to extract fun, joy and excitement out of a mini-trip in or on a machine that spins, lifts, or jolts you for a few minutes. But that’s what it was; that, and the excitement of waiting to see what was next. 10
What fascinated me most that day was what seemed like an inordinate number of kids toting about giant toys, stuffed pandas and other colorful kewpies. My father must have noticed my coveting stares and gravitated to a game of chance. It was a wheel of fortune type device with matching numbers printed on the counter on which you placed your bet. Bets were a dime. Nickels were more the thing in those days. Dimes indicated a bit of excess cost. I didn’t anticipate a second wager after he had lost the first but my father tried again. We lost again. I am sure we all had a sense of the old carnie rip-off but apparently determined to win the giant panda, my father bet again and again, graduating to wager several dimes on each spin... and then several dimes on each of several numbers. 11
It couldn’t have been that much money, but it sure seemed like it. My father changed dollar bills, and bet and bet again. I had heard him tell stories of how he and his father had visited a casino in Russia when he was a boy and how his father, who had died a very young man, had won. How close they had become that night; how they were winners. But no matter how many thin Mercury dimes my father placed on the counter, no matter on what numbers, he could not win. I watched the man in the booth sweep the dimes off the painted numbers into a trough and fistful them into his apron pockets. My father changed more dollar bills into dimes and put his money on the table with great purpose and little indecision; as if he had an inside tip as to how the wheel would go. I wondered at how many times anyone could lose consecutively without one win. That was all he wanted. It no longer had any connection to the giant panda. But we were on either the right or the left side of the winning number, or far from it. We never won.12
When we left Palisades Amusement Park that afternoon I felt blue, certainly compared with what you might expect after an afternoon at an amusement park. But it was I who had brought my father to Palisades. He had spent countless dimes, amounting to dollars he could ill afford, because of me.13
What had me feeling saddest of all was not our failure to win anything, but knowing the real reason my father wanted to win. He wanted to be a winner in the eyes of his son. But it was my knowledge that he felt he had failed in that. My father thought he was a loser. The fact is though, he really wasn’t.14
Author notes
This is a favorite because of one of the major characters. The story additionally has a valid history of the area, long forgotten but revived and chronicled herein, and is laden with disparate elements to impel, propel, and compel this tale forward. There are conflicts in terrain, characters, relationships, dreams and reality, hopes...and the way chips fall, even the weather.It is...what once was. PALISADES PARK.
A contest entry
- Seasons Come, Seasons Go by jmcherrygirl15.
115 points, ended November 16, 2008, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Family Stories--Big Points! by JJBanReo.
1800 points, ended August 1, 23 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 47 of 47
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2 Words
Freddy Cannon. That's what drove me to this story. And you delivered again. This is a superior story in my opinion. Those of us who grew up in a 'natural' climate with public transportation and both parents are apparently verging on, becoming as familiar as dinosaurs. Outlines in bones, impossible to touch relics of a prehistoric age. My brother and I opted for rooms on the unheated, un air conditioned 3rd floor of our house. The roof was red clay tiles that absorbed heat all day long. We would drag cots onto a flat part of the roof to try to catch a breath of air during the dog day nights. This touched on all those memories and Riverview,Kiddieland, Kenneywood & Hershey Park. This is such a touching tribute to your Dad. Reminds me of the Islamic prayer "Thank you God for the lives that we live."
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Painfully poignant
"He wanted to be a winner in the eyes of his son": I liked the connection between the father's nostalgia regarding Russia and his own father, and NYC and his son. How often we stand as the pivot point between one generation and the next, not realising our motivations, yet our children see right through us.
I enjoyed the description of a NYC summer, before airconditioning. It gave substance to the song "Up on the Roof".
beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 4, characters: 3.
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There's not much more I can say that hasn't already been said. I am used to your style and always impressed by your prose. I imagined your background as part of the Brooklyn Bridge instead of the Eiffel Tower. It's all about imagination.
JJ
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 3, ending: 5, dialog: 4, characters: 3.
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JUST TO CLARIFY...
Thank you, but... This IS the GEORGE WASHINGTON BRIDGE (in the background)...and most CERTAINLY NOT the Eiffel Tower! Lol!...although I DO see where one can make that graphic/visual error! Again...we are in N.Y./N.J....not Paris, France!
Thanks,
GA -
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BUT...It sure does look like the Eiffel! (Perhaps it is! If so...I apologize! I ALWAYS saw this as the GWB!
But...come to think of it...I think you are correct!!! Alas!
Therefore...I have elected to CHANGE the enire VAGUE backdrop! Thanks!
Best,
GA
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I like reading your stories because they are so well written and as a New Yorker they remind me of home.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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I loved your beginning, very descriptive, though you might start out with a sentence that tells us what you are talking about, because at first I didn't know that you were describing Pallisaide Parks. call me a ditz...but it's true
This is all very great imagery, but I would start the story sooner, and mix in the descriptions within the context of the story. Even best-selling novelists can't maintain the attention span of readers for more than a few paragraphs or so.
especially since you are describing this from your view point, I think that is the strongest part, so tell us why these memories are so important, describe the place through your eyes as a boy. So while we are getting to know the place we are getting to know you too.
This is really awesome. It's like your describing this place, and your showing us how much you love it, and you are helping us to love it too. Awesome
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Thanks for the read but...
I have to say I was NOT describing PALISADES PARK at the top of the story. This was MY NEIGHBORHOOD...178th Street and Cabrini Blvd! I don't know how much more detailed I could have been! PALISADES PARK was across the GW Bridge...in New Jersey! I lived on the Eastern side of the bridge...in Manhattan!
Sorry for the confusion!
GA
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Another golden one.
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Amazing
I really like it! -
Isn’t it strange how this sort of thing sticks with us throughout our childhood and beyond? That is if this story is auto-biographical. As children growing up, we all have regrets and no matter how serious our transgressions, it is often the little seemingly insignificant ones that remain as the proverbial guilty thorn in our sides.
I remember when I was only about 7, my dad took me to a fairground, he went on the claw machine – you know the one where you direct a claw forwards and then either to the left or right and it lowers itself hopefully clasping onto some prize. My dad won me a watch, and gave it to me, excitement clearly etched onto his face. I could not understand his excitement as I already had a watch. I can still picture his face transform to disdain as I told him that I did not even care to keep it as a spare and threw it into the park side river. What an ungrateful little shit I was…
I mentioned this to my dad years later and how it had troubled me for almost two decades, the funny thing is, and he did not even remember it and said it would not have bothered him…the thought still troubles me from time to time…
Anyways, this was great, a trip down memory lane. I am really starting to feel like I know you, that is how well your memories transcribe to paper. Keep up the good work and I will slowly make my way through all of your pieces. Such is the joy of working a job that is mundane and easy, plenty of time for slacking off…
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Oh, and lots of applause!
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Sorry for being away for a while, school has been killing me lately. At least I finally got around to reading this. I have taken numerous peeks on it before but never completed it.
This one was a little different from your other stories in the sense that it not only had that intangible blue undertone I've seen in all your works so far, but also was openly sad. The sad ending took me completely by surprise, not exactly what you expect in a story about a day at the amusement park, but I must say it was a pleasant surprise. A beautiful ending to a wondrously nostalgic story. I especially liked the language in this one, perfect for its context.
I believe I have read all the stories you have recommended me by now. Any suggestions on where I should go next? -
uhm. Well It didn't even interest me. Please don't get mad. But I didn't like it all. Sorry. I really am sorry but it didn't interest in even in the slightest way. I feel so bad. B/C I usually am interested in even one little thing but nothing in this was good to me. Maybe I just don't like the story itself.
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I liked it... It was very nostalgic, and the imagery was very good. It actually created a picture i could visualise. The historical aspect interested me as well. You have a good developing style, though it seems a bit "high english" for a modern writer. On a more technical note I would consider a new backgroung. The current one is distracting and makes it hard to read
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The first time I came around here was when you featured it, and unfortunately I read it then but didn't have enough time to comment on it. Well, now I do have enough time. Let me first say the usual: good description, idea, nostalgia, blah blah blah. Then there's the overall message that you state at the bottom; it wasn't about winning, but vindicating himself in front of his son. Good job.
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Thank you!
Thank you for entering "Palisades Park" in "My Little Gem" and making it a fun contest for everyone. Due to an inundation of contest entries I will not be able to give an extensive comment on every entry. Good luck in all of your writing endevors.
God Bless,
Yeshua -
Beautiful!
Gary this story was beautiful! I actually teared up near the end. Perhaps it was so powerful for me because I lost my dad 2 years ago. But I don't think so. I think it was powerful because it is something we can all related to on an emotional level.
Honestly I could find nothing wrong. Although I normally prefer some dialogue in a story, I didn't miss it a bit. Your prose was beautiful and truly seemed effortless. Your descriptions were so well done, I could absolutely picture the little boy collecting his amusement park tickets, and the father plunking down his money time and again in his effort to win his son's respect--even though he already had it.
This really was beautiful, nostalgic, and VERY well-written story.
beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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This was really beautiful. My favorite part was -What had me feeling saddest of all was not our failure to win anything, but knowing the real reason my father wanted to win. He wanted to be a winner in the eyes of his son. But it was my knowledge that he felt he had failed in that. My father thought he was a loser. The fact is though, he really wasn’t.14
It was beautifully phrased and the best part because it really made me feel bad fro this father, just as the son. I think that this was a very good peice, and I applaud you
Great job!
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Summer. Heat. Periodic emptiness and quiet afternoons. Sometimes going “downstairs” and stepping outside onto Cabrini Boulevard was like walking into the dry heat of the much spoken-of oven. Together with the stillness and silence of the one way, nearly dead-end street (you could only turn east on 178th Street), there were few better comparisons. The noises, the people, the activity on hot July and August days seemed to be sucked away along with any semblance of comfortable temperatures or amenable air. On some late mornings and early afternoons the vacant sidewalks of the block between 177th and 178th Streets brought the Devil’s Anvil, or Frying Pan, or any number of implements, to mind. And when no friends were out, there were few diversions from the discomfort; few amusements. It was too hot to play. No breezes blew.2
cool. it was pretty cool -
Another Very Good Story.
I always seem to find the beginning of your stories a little slow to get into, but usually, by the end, I'm quite impressed.
My father and I were never close. He favored my sister. I didn't really learn to appreciate him until after his death. It was after his death that I wished I'd known him better, but there's no going back. This has no bearing on your story, but it brought it to mind. My father wanted to be important in my eyes. He is now.
This is very well written. It packs a solid punch at the end.
Andy
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Another well written piece from you Gary - and you are correct - I hadn't yet had the chance to enjoy this one. Like most of your prose, this is clearly written and the scene extracted from memory and served up in palatable glory. I could feel the heat as described in the first few paragraphs and I really felt for the father in this piece as he worked so hard to keep up appearances.
Thank you for your entry in Share the Spoils.
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This story is perfect! The description of summer is wonderful, your imagery is clear. At the same time, the touching emotions that tied in with the ending made it even better! I really enjoyed reading this story! Good luck!
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Awww, this was sad and sweet. I feel sad for the narrator, as well as his father. More so for the father, actually. You did a good job with letting the audience in on their thoughts and feelings. Keep writing! ^^
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This was great. I liked it a lot, very nicely done. This was a wonderful tale about a boy who looked up to his father, even if his father wasn't a hundred percent aware. Thank you so much for entering. Good luck. God Bless!
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Lovely and sad
I really enjoyed all of the descriptive imagery. It made my own experiences - walking with my parents on a hot summer's day; dad buying me one of those enormous hot-dogs; my first amusement park ride - come back to me and I got this wonderful feeling of nostalgia.
Also, despite how the piece is written from the first-person perspective, it is clearly a story entirely about the main character's father. With a simple exploration of a father's motives, you manage to offer a lot of insight into many father-son or father-daughter relationships. Kudos for that!
The first paragraph sets up the story well enough, but it could probably have a bit more of a 'hook'; something to draw the reader in. The overall flow of the story is very nice, though; the end builds quite effectively on the middle.
Thanks for sharing this!
beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 3, ending: 5, characters: 4.
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hey
that was very interesting i was drawn into it the moment i started, i really enjoyed it, and it was very involving
not to mention you have great imagery with the image and the fined detail you put into your words
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I'm not sure I totally enjoy the line "much spoken-of oven," although I understand what you were trying to say and it does tie in a bit with the allusion to other heat metaphors later in the first paragraph.
Comma after long in paragraph two, but not totally necessary.
Amen to when air conditioning was not commonplace. How about when indoor toilets were still a luxury item? (In the country, anyway).
No issues with paragraph three.
In paragraph four, "it was there" instead of "it was here," just for ease of position.
Paragraph five..... maybe a comma after "mythical" would tie in the "yet" better... something like that.
Thin mercury dimes? Mercury? I don't understand.
Oh my goodness, what a heart-wrenching ending! I was very close to my father growing up, and although I'm sure the feeling of wanting to appear a winner is much deeper between a father and his son, I could feel the sense of guilt, awkwardness, and other feelings that I can't put into words of the boy.
Wonderful, one of my favorites, easily!
beginning: 4, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, characters: 5.
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Excellent story.
I was drawn into this excellent story from the beginning. The words used carefully, drawing a fine picture with the words, bringing up images upon images as the story unfolded. Classic, moving. -
I like your comparisons here, and your language seems to flow really well. I like your setting descriptions, but I don't get a feel for your characters, and this seems more like an anecdote then an actual story. It sounds like something you would talk about at like the dinner table, not something you would like put in a book. You show too much and don't tell. You don't leave enough to the imagination, but it has potential.
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hello, yes i read it. the details were amaizng and i thought it was pretty interesting to read. it has a lovely atmosphere to it. kudos. =D
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Yay, such a poignant tale from Gary again! I loved it. The "thin dimes" really made the visual pop for me there, as well as the booth man's apron pockets. The part about the blazingly hot, boring summer street made a very vivid image in my head as well.
Just one minor thing: I think "spoken of" would be better in the opening paragraph if it were hyphenated. -
The imagery is extravagant. I like that I can imagine all of this. The words you chose to build the imagery isn't too flamboyant, nor is it too dull. Well done. I hope you told your father he wasn't a failure. Sometimes, when we hold something inside ourselves for long periods, it burns a hole in us...because we never forget it. An excellent story.
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its sweet, its like something i would want to do for some body.
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Congrats
Congrats on your wonderful story! I feel forced to give you an applause for this story's popularity. You are an amazing author. -
Good story
Your story was a sentimental journey for me. I remember Palisades Park from my own childhood. I wondered at the end of the story if you ever got to tell your father how you felt that day.
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as i read this i felt as though i was watching a film, every second rich in detail. Father-son moments are often the things that adults can recall easily years after, with a sparkle in there eye, thinking of the good times they spent with their father. Im not sure if this is from your memory, or one of your stories(partly because my computer is glitching and i was, and am, very distracted as i read and may have skipped over a few paragraphs)
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Oh gah, Gary........... I am the world's biggest sucker for sad-dad stories, because I love my Dad more than any man in the whole world. At the end, where Mr. Alexander hadn't won and hadn't won and little Alexander felt guilty because of the money and Mr. Alexander felt like he wasn't being the incredible, lucky, perfect dad that little boys look up to.
Alright, now for the nitty-gritty. The last three paragraphs are what give the story its tinge and flavor and what make it so great. The last paragraph, however, is also the only place in your story where I felt awkward. The last four lines... I don't know; I mean, I already understood from the first sentence in the paragraph (and the story) that Mr. Alexander wanted to win for his son, but couldn't. Having it explained in the very end took out some of the pain and replaced it with "why is GA explaining things to his mainly adult audience?" I could even live with just the two middle sentences being removed, and the very last sentence being polished up a tad or reconnected with "my father thought he was a loser."
I hate dragging on like this. Okay, if you told me to rewrite your whole story, I would leave everything the same but the last paragraph, which I would write like this-
"What had me feeling saddest of all was not our failure to win anything, but knowing the real reason my father wanted to win, to be a winner in the eyes his son. He thought he had failed in that, that he was a loser. He wasn't."
Ehh. I'm sure you'll find a better way.
Loved this story, it pulled at my father-loving-heart strings. STOP MAKING ME MUSHY. ^_^
beginning: 4, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 5, characters: 5.
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Wow, Gary, the power in the last two paragraphs is incredible. You greatly moved me, something that rarely happens when I read short stories. You were right about me relating to this piece (no surprise there).
I like how you steadily painted a picture of the good times you shared with your father as a child, the more memorable moments being unrelated to the concept of money but rather associated feelings and sights that I imagine bring a smile to your face years on (such as the taste of Tom Collins). Without saying it directly, you expressed the connection you shared with your father in a way that is difficult to describe with words.
I think what I learned (and liked!) most about this piece is how you can never recapture the blind adoration of a son towards his father. Your father obviously felt an incredible adoration towards your grandfather when he won at the casino, but not because he saw him as a winner, but because he must have felt like his father was capable of anything. Somehow, people forget that, and your father grew up only remembering that his dad was a winner that day. He wanted to recreate that feeling he had towards his own father by winning the game, but he had forgotten that what he really felt was love.
This is a very intelligent and deeply meaningful piece, I really enjoyed it. It reminds me of the times I had when I was a child, thank you for that. Once again you didn't fail to impress.
- CC
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Going up in a small town, we never had a 'Palisades Park', but we did have the air-conditioned movie theater, but it was only open on the weekends. And every September the County Fair and Carnival came to town. In my small town it was the most exciting time of the year. I loved it and miss the childish joy it gave me.
I cried at the end. Thank you for another glimpse into you.
Brooke
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Wow
Oh my gosh! The images alone are just beyond superb! But what I liked the most was how you kept the images coming- the usage of the senses...everything. It felt as if you intentionally slapped me t here to see it all. Bravo!
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Another smoothie from Gary........
I always enjoy these stories of yours, they're quite conversational. But you know by now that I have the odd gripe, mostly about the different way we use language. I've just had a friend of mine staying, whose speciality is American literature, and he's been giving me an ear-bashing about spelling, grammar and punctuation, reminding me of the difference in cadence between the UK and the US. It's all very well for him, he spends at least eight weeks a year in New Jersey and California, so he's been conditioned to it all.
So, in a spirit of trying to think myself into the American useage, I've bitten my tongue and tried to imagine stories told in an American voice, and it almost works. the following notes you can take or leave alone, because overall, the story has its own charm, but I'd be interested to hear what you make of my gripes; maybe I'm too parochial and precious!
Para 3; 2nd sentence, optional commas after "long", and "weekends". 4th sentence, and this one winds me up, "less" should be "fewer" - we're talking numbers not quantities here. Sorry, Gary, but this is a pet peeve of mine, and it irks me beyond measure.
para 4 1st sentence is really cumbersome. I think you're trying to cover all the bases, and it does make sense. But it seems more of a mouthful than necessary. I'd hate to have to read it aloud. 3rd sentence, I believe it's "seperately", and there should be a comma after said word.
Para 5; loved the final phrase of this, neat touch!
Para 11: 1st sentence, shouldn't it be "toting giant toys around"? I don't know what kewpies are; in context, it seems they are stuufed toys. 2nd sentence, covetous maybe? comma after "stares".
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DWJ, I believe you Brits are outnumbered on storywrite anyway ^_^. Take your crumpets and be glad that you had Shakespeare.
=D -xylo -
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palisades park
Shakespeare was a little before my time.
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Gary
A wonderful piece - a beautifully described story with many, many ubiquitous connections between father and son. All very complex, but through your theme, loud and clear at the end. I enjoyed it immensely.
For what it's worth, I felt your style has changed a little bit since reading several older works - you have less number of longer sentences - and the ones that do go on a while, are appropriate (1 exception in my view - see below). This is not me pretending to be a teacher though - just my own personal observation ;-)
As usual, a few edit-style points -
para 3 - the parantheses aside should have the comma after it, not before.
para 4 - this is just me - I think it is easier for the reader's flow to have dashes located after "father" and "goer" in the segment: "my father who was not a movie goer would" . The word "simply" in the last sentence - I know what you mean but I have questioned my own use of the word when used in the context of "invariably", "inevitably" etc etc. I always feel uncomfortable with the word in that context and I never feel satisfied with it.
para 5 - "In those pre-air-conditioned apartment days" - sort of tautological - you essentially stated that fact in para 4 (unless you wanted to reiterate).
para 6 - the last semi-colon - seems to me a colon or dash would be better as the last two phrases are more a continuation of your sentence, rather than a contrasting redirection.
para 7 - thought the long sentence in here was a little too long - after "gaiety" you use a comma to drill down on the Riviera - it could warrant a new sentence after it.
para 8 - possibly change "myth" to "mythical" or "a myth"?
para 12 - space after the last ellipsis.
para 13 - "How close they had become that night;" is a little vague for me - not sure exactly what you are meaning.
well done - another very good piece indeed!
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Good idea for air-conditioned movies in the heat of summer.
But on a completely different note - this ending was so sad! The guilt came across clearly; now I even feel blue myself. But that's a good thing of course - you know you're a good writer if you can make your readers feel the same way as your story's feel.
I hope that this father knows how much his son loves him.
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What a lovely vignette of a gentle childhood and father who wanted above anything else to be the most important person in his son's life.
Beautiful, Gary, just beautiful.
Lis.beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.
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