Research: Journals
The Journal
Past Issues
26.1
Kathleen McGookey
DetailsAfter Easter dinner, my nephew asks, “What’s a detail?” and my mother replies, “It’s a part of the story.” He accepts this answer. We are reading; rude Squirrel Nutkin has just been captured by Great Brown Owl when my father falls down by the dining room table. I try to read in just same voice as before so my nephew won’t be scared, even though I am. But I don’t hate my father for something he can’t help, I hate the falling. I hate the outward appearance of weakness. My brother is holding my father’s arm. I’ve never asked him what he thinks of Dad’s frailty. Squirrel Nutkin escapes without being eaten but doesn’t change his impertinent ways: he still won’t offer the owl minnows or berries or nuts. That’s part of the story. Another part of a different story: my mother looked up and saw my father at the end of the dock with the dog. Mist began to gather over the lake and the railing wasn’t yet installed. The rain had trampled the daffodils during this, the season of rebirth. Later, my brother untangled a set of car keys from the ivy at the water’s edge. My mother thanked him profusely; she gives him credit for such small things, such details: for finding the keys, for raising my father up.
