THE PIETÀ (PART III OF III)

JULY 20, 2020 – (Cont.) Two weeks later, Dad and my two older sisters picked us up at the train depot in Minneapolis. “How was your trip?” he asked.

“Good,” I said.

“Wonderful,” Mother said.

“We went to the fair,” my younger sister said.

I couldn’t wait to present Dad with his requested souvenir. Less than an hour later, we pulled into the driveway, and Dad helped carry our luggage into the house. As soon as my suitcase landed in my bedroom, I opened it, pulled out The Pietà and rushed back downstairs. With the model behind my back, I stepped up to Dad and said, “Remember what you asked me to get you?”

Dad chuckled quizzically. “Uh, no-o-o-o,” he said. “Not exactly. What?”

I was crestfallen. To my utter amazement, I’d found a treasure trove of model Pietàs after I’d been wholly perplexed as to how I’d possibly procure one. But then, in the event of presenting my improbable “find,” Dad couldn’t remember what he’d requested. I was too young to realize that over the intervening month, in just the normal course of his daily work, Dad had been preoccupied with far more than my casual vacation fare—leisurely comings and goings, late afternoon cartoons on television, weekend trips to the country, and a memorable day at the New York World’s Fair.

When I pulled The Pietà out from behind my back, Dad remembered instantly. His spontaneous delight allowed me to grant him quick forgiveness. He examined it carefully, as much to express his thanks to me as out of appreciation for Michelangelo’s creation. I’m not sure of the model’s journey within the house after that, but decades later after Dad died, Mother had been moved, and I was taking inventory and clearing stuff out, I found The Pietà on a shelf of the corner cabinet in the dining room, appearing elegantly—after a fashion—among various other keepsakes from years gone by.

Dad never got to see the real Pietà; never managed to get to Rome or the Vatican or Italy He did manage to travel vicariously, though, through me, my spouse, our kids. He got to hear that we’d visited the Basilica and seen—and eyed ever so carefully, attentively—The Pietà in its permanent home.   And to Dad’s amusement, I got to recount his zeal for that masterpiece of Michelangelo, his request for a model, and my fulfillment of that request.

Here again, he’d doubtless allow a chuckle—and find satisfaction in my newfound interest in the art of the Renaissance and the genius of Michelangelo Buonarroti and so many others.

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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson