Daddy's Girl

If there is one person I miss the most it's my daddy.  He was a handsome man.  Hard working.  Dependable.  But most of all -- loving.  I think that's why I am such a softie when it comes to people.  He taught me most of what I know, many things but to name a few -- how to drive, haul hay, tend cattle, mow the yard, change a tire, embroidery. 

He taught me life is good.  Pleasure comes from the simple things.  Children are the foundation for tomorrow.  He wasn't a very educated man.  He was born into the farming life in Bennington, Oklahoma.  Spring and summer plentiful but winters harsh from lack of money and crop to trade with.  He lied about his age to enter the Air Force (common for back then).  He was known in the ranks for his mischief and pranks.  Leaving the service due to bad health he survived and provided for the family with his hands.  His hands were hard, calloused, but strong.  He ranched, mowed lawns, raised/bred dogs, ran a greenhouse.  He could build anything.  By the time of his death he owned his own construction company and all his kids had either graduated college or were attending at the time.

I miss most the spark in his eyes and the sound of his laughter -- his arm around my shoulders.  My daughter has his eyes.  They make me smile.  Here is one memory:

I started working for this locally own burger restaurant at the age of 13.  We lived in this little town on Lake Texoma.  My dad pulls up in his Ford pickup truck.  The bed full of people.  On his way home he came across a family, their truck broke down by the road.  They had a flat tire, no spare as well as six kids -- no money, hungry, lost in what to do next.  He stopped, loaded them and the flat tire into the truck, brought them to The Burger Shoppe.

Everyone looked so hot and tired.  He came to the counter, gave me a big wink.  He ordered 8 hamburgers, 2 large fries and water all around.  Paid for the food,  told the family he'd be back.  The wife, grateful to be inside where it was cool, thanked him.  In her face you could see the uncertainty as she tended to her children.  When they had finished eating I bought the kids all a cup of vanilla ice cream.  I too wondering about their plight.

It had started turning dusk outside when my dad arrived back at the restaurant.  In hand a bag of groceries, 3 gallon container of gas, and a new-used tire.  He took them to their stranded vehicle, helped change the flat tire, and sent them on their way.

During the year after he died I moved back home and started commuting back and forth to college.  I would have to leave early in the morning as I had a 75 mile commute one way.  One morning, dark highway, in my headlights I see a man walking towards me on the shoulder.  My instinct to keep driving out of fear, afraid I'd be killed in some desolate place.  As I pass him, gas can in his hand, I saw my father.  The impression was so great I started crying, turned around at the next exit, and pulled in behind him.

He came to the driver's side window.  They say every person has a twin, and this man was my father.  Even down to the way he was dressed.  He had ran out of gas, left his wife in the car as he started for a gas station he had passed.  We headed to the gas station.  He thanked me as I dropped him off at his car, wife sitting in the passenger seat.  They owned a chocolate store near my home town, told me to come by and waved as I drove off. 

 I've thought many times how horrible that could have turned out.  How my daughter will be drilled to never stop for strange men - stranded or not - anywhere.  But at that time -- that moment -- that morning -- I could have done nothing else.  Compassion is my driving force.  Because of that I've had the most satisfying experiences and felt the greatest pain.  I wouldn't have it any other way -- I am a daddy's girl.