Radio in my lap, yellow lines blink by out the driver’s side.
The feeling is familiar, but the road… not so much.
I’m not coming from home. And I’m not wearing my uniform.
“Catron S.O., 2466 on Davenport”
“On Davenport, go ahead.”
“Yes ma’am, we’re on scene at the rodeo grounds.”
I loosen my collar a bit, single windsor slightly adrift.
And I push open the back door of the ambulance to smile down at a mother and two seriously good looking little boys.
“Hello, my son hur– [gasp]
You must be Dr. Nebblett’s boy!!”
And I wish you could have seen her smile.
I wish you could have seen mine.
“Yes ma’am, I am indeed Dr. Nebblett’s boy.”
I sit on the gurney, across from the brave little boy with big dark eyes. He with his cowboy hat, me with my cufflinks.
And I examine, and poke, and ask questions, and watch his eyes. And compare and consult… and tell his mother what she should do.
And we are instantly friends.
And someone pulls a pack of instant ice out of the cabinet, and I squeeze it until the bubble breaks, and it transforms in my hands.
And when he steps down from the ambulance, his mother tells me to tell my dad I’d seen them, and that they sent greetings.
And I did. And my father lit up the same way she had…
Because those boys were his friends, who’d moved away. The ones that would reach for him whenever they came to the office, starting at 4 months of age…
I watch them go for a quiet moment. And I turn to Jared, stethoscope around his neck–
“I think I look like my dad.“
He smiles; man of well-chosen words.
I ponder. I wonder…
That reaction– Do people see in my face the likeness of my Father?
Is that likeness striking enough for them to catch His features at first glance?
Even when distracted by some other stress?
Even if they’ve never met Him?