My father is a much more mysterious presence in my life than my mother. From about the age of ten until well into my adolescence, he traveled for work. He managed to go to pretty much all 50 of the states. Before the age of 10, we were buddies. I would sit in his lap and he would tell me stories of going to the farm and shooting bears. He’d sing these hilarious songs including one about a boy named Sue. (I didn’t learn until years later that this was a song written by a man named Johnny Cash).
He builds things. He has one of those obscure sounding positions like construction manager or project manager or something or other. I know that he overseas other people and he gets phone calls. He also has to be onsite. We used to drive around town and he would show me the stuff he built over the years.
He was in the Air Force when he was a young man and developed a “work wardrobe” consisting of khaki pants and a short sleeved button down khaki short. He also likes to play the guitar. As a result of this, I thought my father was Andy Griffin when I was a kid. “LOOK MOM Dad is on TV!” Yep.
Dad likes to carve things over the years he has made my Mom quite a menagerie. There are a whole bunch of people around town who have “peachpit monkeys” and “Arkansas Razorback pendants”
He’s the guy whom every time he hears I’m going on a trip calls me to see if I’ve checked my oil lately. He gives me the “your car is like a horse” lecture. He’s also the guy who foot the bill for my piano lessons, dance lessons, band camps, and all that jazz.
So Thank you Dad for all you’ve done. I love you.
