Father's Day 2012
When I was a very little girl, my parents divorced for all of the right reasons. My mother and I moved in with my grandmother in a little town in the Pine Belt of Mississippi known as DeKalb. I remember my Daddy coming to pick me up frequently and it seems he was always in a new and different vehicle. It was always exciting to see what he would show up in next. He owned a series of brightly colored VW Bugs, a red MG, and one time, he actually retrieved me from Ellie Lou's in an old empty school bus! Those were the days my friends...
My mother eventually remarried and we moved to Mobile, Alabama. Daddy would send me typewritten letters on Bates Steel stationary and bouquets of flowers. Always carnations since those were his favorite flower and I can see why. They are the cheerful sort of blossoms and are ever so fragrant. Sometimes, he would send presents. A beautiful set of carefully bound Sherlock Holmes books. A CD player with Sting's "Dream of the Blue Turtle."
Now that I am older, oh so much older, I think of these packages that used to come in the mail with a bittersweet fondness and great nostalgia. What I wouldn't give to have something, anything tangible to come in the mail for me from my father.
I remember being at Dad's various residences when I was just a little thing and always being barefoot and having a good time. I had a friend, Lauralee, who was the daughter of one of his best buddies. We would spend hours sitting at my Daddy's drafting table coloring. One time, I was lying on the floor of one of Dad's apartments. It was in an old house with 14 foot ceilings at least. I was with either playing a game or watching TV and I had my feet sticking up way too close to a metal oscillating fan so I cut my pinkie toe.
Another time, Daddy and I spent a couple of hours down in Mamaw's basement making a picture frame that I painted sky blue.
When I got older - much, much older - Dad and I used to spend the mornings in Houston together reading the paper and having our coffee. We'd discuss politics and the news.
Now I am 41 years old rarely get to see or speak to my Dad. It breaks my heart in about a million pieces on the floor. I have to hold out hope that one day, we will together more often again and a part of my life that is sorely missed will be restored to its former glory. Until then, I will cherish the memories and cling to dreams of being able to go home again.
My mother eventually remarried and we moved to Mobile, Alabama. Daddy would send me typewritten letters on Bates Steel stationary and bouquets of flowers. Always carnations since those were his favorite flower and I can see why. They are the cheerful sort of blossoms and are ever so fragrant. Sometimes, he would send presents. A beautiful set of carefully bound Sherlock Holmes books. A CD player with Sting's "Dream of the Blue Turtle."
Now that I am older, oh so much older, I think of these packages that used to come in the mail with a bittersweet fondness and great nostalgia. What I wouldn't give to have something, anything tangible to come in the mail for me from my father.
I remember being at Dad's various residences when I was just a little thing and always being barefoot and having a good time. I had a friend, Lauralee, who was the daughter of one of his best buddies. We would spend hours sitting at my Daddy's drafting table coloring. One time, I was lying on the floor of one of Dad's apartments. It was in an old house with 14 foot ceilings at least. I was with either playing a game or watching TV and I had my feet sticking up way too close to a metal oscillating fan so I cut my pinkie toe.
Another time, Daddy and I spent a couple of hours down in Mamaw's basement making a picture frame that I painted sky blue.
When I got older - much, much older - Dad and I used to spend the mornings in Houston together reading the paper and having our coffee. We'd discuss politics and the news.
Now I am 41 years old rarely get to see or speak to my Dad. It breaks my heart in about a million pieces on the floor. I have to hold out hope that one day, we will together more often again and a part of my life that is sorely missed will be restored to its former glory. Until then, I will cherish the memories and cling to dreams of being able to go home again.
Comments