Like Father, Like Son
Hawkeye, age 11
Hawkeye sat on his father's desk, watching him finish the day's paperwork, just as he'd watched him tending to patients and making diagnoses for the past several hours. It was nearly 6 o'clock and they were finally about to head home, his dad's workday over, and Hawkeye was thinking about the pizza they were going to pick up on the way—with pepperoni, he hoped. But he was also thinking about telling his dad what he had decided that afternoon, as he'd watched his pop and the people who came to see his pop. He'd made a big decision about his future.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Hawkeye, I know you want pizza. Just give me one more minute here with this chart and then we can go. You've been very well-behaved today, young man, so don't ruin it now by getting impatient on me."
It was a mild admonishment, and Hawkeye smiled. "No, I wanted to tell you something, Dad."
His father finished writing in the chart and set it aside on his desk. He finally lifted his head and looked at his son, perched there on the desk next to him. "Yes? Tell me what? That your topping of choice is pepperoni?"
"Well yeah, that. And something else." He started nervously swinging his legs. "I decided something today. I'm going to be a doctor just like you."
His father looked surprised at first, then touched. "Oh son, that's very sweet. But you're only 11. You have plenty of time to decide something like that—"
Hawkeye interrupted, "No, I really know it now. I was thinking about it before, but today I really decided. I want to do what you do. I want to figure out what's wrong with people and then help them get better."
Doctors didn't help mom get better, he thought suddenly, bitterly. Doctors were all around her when she was sick, but she died anyway. He immediately shook that thought from his head. As much as he missed his mom, as horrible as it was to lose her so young, he could never place the blame on her doctors. He knew that all the medical men in the world couldn't have saved her. Some battles you just can't win.
He looked into his dad's dark eyes now, so unlike his own, and repeated, "I want to be a doctor. I know I could do it. I'll bet I'd be good at it."
"I'm sure you would, Hawkeye. You've got quite a stubborn streak, and that's something a good doctor has to have. You wouldn't give up easily, and every patient wants a doctor who refuses to give up."
Hawkeye beamed at him. "So you think it's a good idea, Dad?"
His pop stood up from his chair and Hawkeye jumped off the desk. His dad hugged him, then held him at arm's length and said, "I am honored you want to follow in your old man's footsteps, son. But if you change your mind down the road, that would be all right, too. I want you to find your own destiny, make your own way. And if it does turn out to be medicine, that's wonderful. Whatever you do, I know you'll make me proud."
Hawkeye, his mind made up, declared, "Gonna be a doctor, Dad. Just you watch."
It wasn't until the following week that Hawkeye knew for sure that his dad believed he was serious. That this was not just a phase, that he was committed to the idea of becoming a doctor. His pop arrived home from work with something hidden behind his back, and Hawkeye kept trying to grab at it and see what it was. When finally his dad pulled it out and presented it to him, he started laughing like the giddy 11-year-old he was. It was a baseball cap, and embroidered on it were the words: Dr. Hawkeye.
He wore it every single day for the next year and a half.
--
Hawkeye, returning home from Korea
A world-weary Hawkeye Pierce stepped off the plane and thought, holy shit, for the first time in three years, I'm on Maine soil. The very thought put a contented smile on his face.
He slowly made his way through the tunnel behind the throng of other passengers, wishing he could barrel right on past them and get to his dad, which was something else he hadn't seen in three years. He couldn't wait to see how the man looked—just like he remembered? Or unsettlingly old and frail?
He emerged from the tunnel and immediately started to scan the faces in the crowd at the gate. During the flight, he'd been exhausted and dazed, but now he suddenly felt alert and anxious. Finally getting home, finally getting back to his dad. It had every cell in his body tingling.
After a moment he spotted his dad, who had already seen him and was waving frantically to get his attention. Hawkeye pushed past a few people with murmurs of "Excuse me" and "Sorry," but he could no longer wait for his long-overdue reunion. He sprinted to his dad and lunged at the man, into his awaiting arms, and laughing, they held onto each other, uttering gibberish until the initial shock of it all wore off.
Eventually Hawkeye pulled back and drank in the sight of his father. "You look great, Dad. You really do." Tears had formed in his eyes, but he could still see that the man hadn't changed very much since they'd last laid eyes on each other, and that was a comfort. He himself had changed a lot, he knew, his hair gone from jet black to gray-laced, and he was sure there were lines etched in his face that spoke of how much he'd seen and endured over the last few years. But his pop looked like his pop, and that was all that mattered.
"Son, you look like you've been to hell and back… but then again, you have. Thank God you're home. I'm so happy to see you."
"I'm happy to be seen," Hawkeye quipped.
"You know," his dad began, then paused for a second, waiting for eye contact before continuing, "your mother would be very proud of you." Hawkeye's breath caught. They didn't often mention her, so the times when they did always brought them both an inner glow. His dad smiled and they embraced again, with more laughter and more tears.
Then Hawkeye felt something being placed onto his head and, in surprise, he broke away from the hug and reached up to find out what it was. He pulled the baseball cap off his head and stared at it; on it were the words: Dr. Hawkeye.
"It was time you got a new one," his dad explained.
Hawkeye's smile grew wider than he would have thought possible. He put the cap back on his head and threw an arm around his father's shoulders. "Thanks, Dad. It's the perfect welcome-back present. I'm starting to feel like a civilian again."
"Dr. Hawkeye," his dad said, gesturing toward the exit, "your chariot awaits. Let's go home, son."
Laughing, talking over each other, and already arguing over what to have for supper, they walked arm-in-arm out of the airport.