Today is my Dad's birthday.
While driving to work this morning I was behind a "bob-tail" truck. Funny thing, I stayed behind that truck, when normally I'd make my way around it, into the next lane. I was floating back in time. Memories of the many days, hours and places my Dad spent in a similar truck. My Dad was a hardworking construction guy. He was far from a blue collar, white collar, or any collar for that matter. He was forced to work while in high school. Blossoming from a home filled with alcohol, and abuse. A home filled with 3 boys and a sister. He, being the oldest. His childhood, and high school years, weren't the easiest. In fact, they were at times, awful. My mom and dad began dating in middle school. During the recent visit with my mom, she reminded me of my dads hard days while in high school. She witnessed pure heart break, and dysfunction. His grandmother raising him. He worked with his hands for years and years. Never pushed through college, or a tradesman job. He built hundreds and hundreds of pools for people to enjoy.
Leaving southern California to join a mountain style life. With my mom in tow in the late 80's.
Learning a new life, without alcohol. Falling off that wagon at times, but learning to pick up the pieces and moving on. Without it.
What he was left with, was guilt.
Many many years of heartbreak stuck inside. For what he put us through.
The cycle in life.
I reflect on those days often. How his future life would be mingled with that pain. As a child I never truly understood his sadness. The sadness would never rear it's ugly head, until he drank.
This man has more love that flows through his veins than any man I've ever met. He was a Coors fighter, and an herbal lover. That man would fight through parties, weddings, camp sites, and local gigs. Wishing people didn't cross his path on a bad day, or most important during a full moon. He'd turn up any stereo louder than all those around him. Music moves my dad. As a matter of fact, it still does. So much so, it's crossed into my blood line.
He can play a guitar like a master. Dabbling into the harmonica at times. His outlet was always music.
To this day, it flows through his blood. When the going gets tough, he jams on his porch. My mom, takes the treadmill. Dad grabs his guitar.
He's a wise man. Who taught me more about life than he may even know. He taught me to stand up for myself. As a matter of fact, he's the one that taught me to never stop at the first answer. If you're still in doubt, ask again. And again if it's still not clear.
He taught me to be kind to all animals. Big and small. That man has nursed, and cared for any animal that would live in a mountain environment. The most interesting to me, was a mama skunk and her young. She trusting my dad. I can totally see why.
My dad navigated through rough waters, and caused lots of rough rough waters for us.
I was a rebel in high school, clearly understanding why now.
My mom tolerated so much.
They set the example of "through better or worse"-
Many of us, closed up shop and walked away.
My dad took my recent sadness and abandonment while in my shit storm, I'd pull away, holding resentment.
Although I'm into my late forties, I still wish I had the option of pulling into his driveway, for a hug.
For his wise, and yet stearn affirming tone.
He always told me to be strong, especially during this chapter.
It's not easy to be strong.
He held us up as children, and yet we wouldn't even understand until years later.
His grief, our grief, creating better things.
A break in the cycle.
He's not even aware that because of what we endured, made me strong. Stronger.
Independent.
Loving.
Kind.
Hard.
Able.
Because of you dad, and I'm not even sure you read my blog. But because of you, I am a better person.
I will always cherish the life, even though at times hard. I will cherish the moments you shared with us. Camping. Fishing. Surf side. Making the best firepit. Listening to you while camping at Red Rock, and we were back at camp because you embarrassed us. You'd name all the stars in the sky the loudest, because of Coors. Making bear noises. And if we had a stronger mom she would have packed our shit up and left. But we didn't because we knew the next day might bring sunshine, and hikes. And your amazing famous breakfast scramble "goulaush"-
Dad, I hope you read this someday. You built me. You gave me wings. The biggest wings a warrior mom ever knew would grow. I am my fathers daughter. I look alot like mom, but I am you.
Music. Kindness. Animals. Strength. No tolerance for bullshit. Love. Smiles at strangers. The feeling to drink and drink, only now I've learned the pattern of that bad cycle, so I quit easier.
I love life, and cherish little things as you taught us.
I hope I can call and hear your voice for many many more years to come.
I always wait for you to call or need me to rescue you.
Because your life wasn't always easy. And I think to let others finally love you the way you deserve is what will finalize these chapters for you.
I'm glad you have mom, and mom has you. For that, I will always be grateful.
Always.
Happy Birthday Dad.
Thank God you aren't slingin' Coors and cigarette's, with the music too loud any more.
Enjoy what you love. At least for today.
Sure wish I could sit shot gun next to you...
Mom, Tina and Dad....1969
Love,
Your littlest #2 as you call me. Or in some recent text' LOL #2 (which interprets to you as Lots of Love child number two) But really, in the techy world to me, and I laugh, is Lots of Laughs you littlest shit.
Lisa Lynn
Pray for us! Pray for him!
No comments:
Post a Comment