Dad

My dad was a quiet man; soft spoken and slow to anger. At least from my perspective and memory.  I'm not sure if he was always like that, but I got the impression he would rather be silently working on the car, or in the yard as anything else.  

He was definitely drawn to spend time with my brother over me, but I didn’t hold it against either one of them.  I remember feeling stung a few times, taking trips together without me, but I don’t think there was ever any intent to make me feel excluded. I just think he was able to more closely bond with a boy. I was never a girly-girl, which seemed to disappoint my mother to the highest degree, but maybe part of it was because my brother was my first, best friend. I always wanted to be doing what he was doing.  

My mom mentioned my dad was different after he returned from Vietnam, but there weren’t many specifics given as to why she felt that way. I think by the time I was interested in learning more about it, they were no longer together, and any questions about my dad were met with an amount of contempt that I wasn’t comfortable with. My dad never liked to speak about it. 

I know my dad was born in a very small town near the river landing (~ 15 people), being the only one in his graduating class. He was a hard worker, helping my grandpa in the fields early-on, and joined the Army National Guard to help with the family. When he returned from Vietnam in 1968 on a hardship discharge, he began working at the large manufacturing company in town in production, where my mom followed in the office a couple of years later. Like his parents, my Grandma and Grandpa Jesse, I believe he was just looking for a simple life; to work hard and enjoy quiet times with family.   

He was an alcoholic, as was his dad, and my mom’s dad, and later, my brother and I as well. He was not an abusive alcoholic; his alcoholism was more subtle.  It seems he always had a beer with him at home, but I only felt an emotional distance, not angry outbursts or irritability.  

He loved to bowl and was always on a bowling league while I was growing up.  Sometimes, we were allowed to go to the bowling alley with him, as my mom was usually on a league as well.  The smoke and smell of the bowling alley back then is something I can still smell when I walk into a bowling alley now.  Just the crack of the bowling balls hitting the pins can invoke an overwhelming heavy smoke and stale beer smell, temporarily startling my senses. 

Driving an 18-wheeler was a dream his aspired to at some point, though never came to fruition.  He loved to drive, but I think the solitude is something that he enjoyed even more. Throughout his life, he remained very close to his parents, never straying farther than a few miles from them.  When we were young adults, he came home from work every day to have lunch with them, on his break from the plant. 

He loved the water and bought a boat when we were in our teens to take out on the river. I can remember water skiing with him once or twice when we would drive or take the bus down to visit. I remember water skiing, waiting for the boat to come around and noticing a huge dead carp floating towards me. I frantically paddled my arms, but ultimately had to duck under the water and let him pass! The Mississippi is dirty business, but I have always loved the water.  

My gosh, that man had a head of hair! It always looked to me like a very thick, dark-blond helmet! Freckles. A large strawberry birthmark on his leg, which you didn’t see often; he didn’t wear a lot of shorts.  I think he was self-conscious about it;  I definitely got my coloring from him.  Although both our mom and dad had blue eyes they passed onto to my brother and I, he passed on the freckles and hair-color to me. My hair got a bit darker as I grew up, but it never grew very dark. My brother got the fair skin, but dark hair like my mom, and never had a freckle that I can recall.  I am able to tan, which I must have gotten from my mom.

Although we didn’t spend much one-on-one time together, he was the kind of dad that let me sit on his lap and put curlers in his hair when I was younger. When my mom was angry and out of sorts, he came to our rescue. When I was small, he let me ride on his shoulders and hold on to his ears to balance myself. He had big ears that stuck out like cab doors and I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable to endure!  

Like my Grandpa J, his dad, he liked to work on cars and liked having big boat-like cars with big engines.  I can remember being so small I could stand up in the front seat of one of these boats, with my dad hitting the accelerator hard on the vacant paved country roads, and the rush of knowing we were going 100+ mph. I wasn’t afraid. I was with my dad. 

I wish I could remember more about him. He was a quiet presence. His favorite song was by Kansas, “Dust in the Wind". Whenever I hear that song randomly, I know he is around me. I guess that is enough. It has to be enough. 

Did you have someone in your life when you were younger who made you feel safe? 

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