Daddy’s Arms

Dad and Me 1960

Father’s Day 2020

My Dad was born into The Greatest Generation. WW2 Army Air Corp veteran, trained to be a pilot, loved to fly, ended up an airplane mechanic. Long story there, and I’ll be writing about him in my creative non-fiction series.

I was the youngest, born into a blended family, in the 1950s. My dad’s fourth marriage, my mom’s second. Between them, there were four kids.

Dad was a gentle, quiet, intelligent and funny man, with significant inner struggles. Some of those, I learned this past year. Dad was always available for me and my curious mind. We’d sit at the kitchen table and debate. Long past everyone left from eating dinner, washing dishes, and heading for the living room to watch our black and white, console television.

Truly, I’d ask him every question ever thought of, and he’d answer each one. He never said, “I don’t know.” Because he did know the answer. Looking back on our interactions from an adult’s point of view, I am astonished at his knowledge.

Dad’s tee shirt was dusty with our hometown’s red-clay dirt after building homes from 6 am, and he’d sit with me for hours. My questions were the only thing that mattered in those evenings. He reinforced my value to the world.

Before Mom passed, she told me, “It was so funny. Your dad said to me one evening, ‘Honey, does she ever stop talking? I don’t know how you do it.’ She told him she didn’t know how he does it, after working all day.

My parents never shut me up, down, or made me feel like they didn’t have time for me. Probably why it’s easy for me to believe in an all loving, personal Father God. I was their world. They were mine.

Miss you, Dad. #blendedfamily #creativenonfictionwriting #familymemories

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s