Remembering A Father

I meant to post this yesterday (being Father's Day and all), but I got wrapped up with the family.  Which I suppose is a good escuse for a day dedicated to a family figure.

My dad was one of those big, burly men you were afriad of.  Well... at least my friends were afraid of him.  I knew, or at least hoped, that he was really a big teddy bear on the inside.  I remember my dad playing with me when I was small.  I remember whisker burns and cuddles and even then I remember being somewhat afraid of him.  But as I grew, the gruff exterior grew.

When other kids would say "My dad could beat up YOUR dad," I would always win.  They wouldn't believe me at first.  I had kids showing up at my house to see my dad.  If others had seen my dad, they would say "Ahhhh no, her dad could put your dad into the ground."  Truth is, my father was not violent.  He just had that "look" about him that put people off.

My father was a protector.  I remember when I was a junior in high school, I wrecked his car out in the country.  I was with a boy and we weren't supposed to be out joyriding.  I had driven down a big hill and the stop sign at the bottom was covered in snow.  I didn't see it.  Guy (my boyfriend at the time) started yelling "Stop sign...stop sign!!!!"  I turned to see if cars were coming and the road, instead of going straight, did a little jag at the intersection.  I hit the snowbank on the side of the road that set Guy to screaming again.  "The the the the.... the the MAILBOX!!"  But I couldn't see.  Snow was flying up over the windshield as I plowed through the snowbank in the little Pontiac Sunbird.  BAM!!  We hit the mailboxes and came to a stop in the middle of the road.

"Oh shit, I'm dead" was the first thought in my mind.  I didn't mean dead right there on the spot.  I meant dead as in when my father found out I crashed his car.  We went to inspect the damage.  I had hit a solid metal post that had four mailboxes on it.  Needless to see, there were no longer any mailboxes on it.  One had flown 200 feet into a field.  One had broken all over the road.  The third one was embedded in the radiator and they never found the fourth one.

I ended up calling home praying that my mother would answer the phone.  No such luck.   It was dad.  He came out and picked us up and never said a word to me about it.  It turns out that he thought that Guy was the one driving the car even though I told my mother over and over that it was me.  You see, Guy had failed his drivers test seven times.  He thought I was out letting Guy drive. 

On the passgener side of the car, Guy had bent the visor in his bare hands.  My hands weren't big enough to reach around the visor.  It's kind of comical today and I still hear Guy screaming "The the the the..."   BANG!!!    "The mailboxes!"  My dad died thinking that Guy was the one driving that car.  My dad died a couple years ago.  The power of a father's love... Denial. 

I love you dad.  And I miss you.  Happy Father's Day.

Comments

[bettyalready]

I'm laughing at seeing the guy yelling mailbox's! And no matter how wrong I am, my dad thinks I'm always right.