Father's Day is coming up and that makes me think about Daddy stuff. There are some distinct things that I think of when my Daddy comes to mind. One of them is his humble retort to the query "How are you?" His usual response is "tolerable". Translated that means =tolerable well=could complain but won't. Life has been good to me. Able to take nourishment. I've slept since then.
He's given back most of the goodness, and I think that's why he's so content to hang out with the cattle and nap in his vibrating recliner. As far back as I can remember, the man had two jobs and three kids and a whole bunch of stuff to do. The day job was with the Dept. of Agriculture in the Plant Pest Control division. Off the clock, he lived a farmer's dream as the manager of our place. He delivered calves in the dead of winter with a chain and his own brute strength. We rode on the hay trailer when he went to put the bales out or to pick 'em up after they were cut and tied. He and the vets vaccinated and castrated and got their asses kicked by every animal around here.
The later years of his career with the USDA turned into a travel event where he went to Miami and other ports of entry to inspect luggage for incoming pests, but that wasn't his style really. Mostly he just loves to hang around home and commune with nature. Back in the day, he served our country with the USAF in the Azores as a supply man. His service didn't end there, though. After he took the gift of early retirement, he continued to serve others.
For years on end Daddy drove a hot van to pick up kids to go to Mission Camp in the summer. For two weeks straight every June he would follow his route and listen to the kids ramble about what they were looking forward to that day. At the end of it, he'd pick them up and take them home with new memories. That got to be a bit much for an older guy so now he just fishes with 'em and leaves the hauling to somebody else. His passions have been many and I know a lot of them. Reading. Growing shit. Singin' tenor in the choir to the glory of God. My BabyGirl. His bride of 51 years. Volunteer service at the hospital and with literacy clients. His deep fried taters'n'onions are a legacy at cancer benefits around here. He's a kazillion gallon O negative blood donor.
Daddy never quite knew what to do with my girly self, so he left that part to Mom. It was only as an adult that I came to truly know him. When I got old enough to appreciate the patience that is planting and growing we began a different sort of relationship based on faith. That bond still remains and greets me every day as I walk the yard and keep on keepin' on.
Cuz I know he's proud of me, no matter what.
flushed by poopie on Monday, June 13, 2005
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