Daddy Tracks

My parents are coming up to North Carolina to see me today. They've been once already, during the spring, and seemed to really appreciate the area. My mom walked past every single historical home in Edenton, snapping photos of the house names and dates of origination. It was nearly comical. She was zig-zagging and darting across the street from one sidewalk to the other, talking to herself. She had no clue I was trying to hold a conversation with her. She was thoroughly amused right by herself wandering the streets of historical Edenton. My dad would wake early and walk to the coffee shop downtown. He'd perch himself on a bench or at a cafe table and look like a local. He'd field questions from visitors as best he could, as he was no authority of the area at all... he was visiting too. The best was watching him walk up to all the fishermen at the Sound and start talking to them like they were an old friend. "Whatcha fishin' for today?" and then the two men would carry on a conversation until they ran out of common ground. This suits my dad. He likes to observe areas. He can sit in the woods and be completely amused. Literally, sit by a tree, and watch wilderness and be content. I am like him in that way.

That takes me to a memory I have of when I was little. I used to love going on a day adventure with my daddy. So, he'd tell me to hop in "Blue Thunder", his old blue Chevy that to this day remains symbolic of Gerald to both me and my sister, and we would head to the woods. We would find deer tracks and look at all the squirrels and wildlife and eventually find a place to settle. He would do things like show me how to make toothpicks from twigs. This was my version of hunting. I was hunting for tracks. I wanted to hunt for evidence and maybe see a deer. Thankfully my dad recognized my sensitivity toward animals early on in my life. Had he ever shot one and I witnessed it, I would have been beyond repair. I'm sure he gathered that from my reaction to Bambi's slain parents. If I sat here and thought about that now I would weep. It is traumatizing!

When I was three I saw my kitty Lobo get smashed by a teenage boy speeding down the street who couldn't find the courtesy to slow down and avoid my beloved pet. My dad saw this too, whistled so loud it sounded like a tornado siren and got the careless boy's attention from down the street. The boy stopped and I, with my quivering frowned lip and shaky little arms, watched my dad march to his car window and give him a passionate verbal lashing. He had to yell at me to stop first because I was running toward my cat in the street hoping to save him from the zooming car. No doubt, my dad was angry at the situation of my cat being killed in front of me, but infinitely more angry that this was a residential street lined with playing children, like me, that could've ended up under his wheel doing things like attempting to save their furry friend. Lobo- a handsome, loving cat with black fur and a white chest and paws. Driver- an oblivious asshole that killed my friend and left a stain in my mind to this day. Dad- my defender and protector and possessor of a fierce whistle.

Too bad every child doesn't have a dad like I do. He preferred spending his time with me (and Paige) than at a billiard or bar or even at a friend's place. Pushing me on my swing, listening to my faux news broadcast recordings, watching me dance to The Pointer Sisters' "I'm so excited" and Lisa Lisa's "Head to Toe", carving twigs, encouraging me to "just do that flip with no hands" as he practically taught me how to do my first back tuck in our backyard... ample fun for me, but looking at that from my current adult point of view, I realize how much patience it required. I see many dads these days have glazed eyes when watching their children. They tote a demeanor that reads 'I am going through the motions, putting my time in, and counting the minutes until I can go do what I want to do.' I truly wish to the stars for all children to have a real daddy. Not a father, not even just a dad, but a daddy. Someone to curl up on and watch Braves baseball games until they fall asleep (Dale Murphy is only so entertaining, yawn).

I had a nice childhood. I wonder how many people feel differently in the world. It's priceless really, loving your childhood memories. I was never treated like an idiot. I always got straight answers. I was never told to stop asking questions. I was always given respect. And never, ever did they take another person's word over mine, even adults. They parented me as an individual, not a scenario in a how-to parental guide. And they, especially my dad, appreciated my odd sense of humor and direct approach that was sometimes, unfortunately, misinterpreted by others as offensive. All in all, it fed my security in self, reinforced my thirst and demand for explanations and answers. It rooted my belief in the words 'can', 'miracle', and 'justice'. No pressure with parenthood, right? What if my parents had tried to raise me strictly? What if they constantly tried to harness my thoughts and opinions? What if they smothered and pursued to mold me? My demand for true freedom in all areas of life comes from having had it as I grew. Freedom. That is a word that lifts my spirit. It is creative license for my life. I owe my knowing and feeling of that word to my parents. They saw that I needed space and liberty as a child and gave it to me. Thank God.

They'll arrive tonight, their only request being to have coffee brewing. Weather-wise, it is an ideal time to come here to the Inner Banks of North Carolina. Fall feels nice and walking around town and venturing to Williamsburg will be enjoyable. The pups have already been told Nana and Papa are coming and they watched the door for 15 minutes. Eventually, Selma tip toed to the bed, sneaking past me as I typed this, and she is now sound asleep, snuggled in the down comforter. China, too, has given up on their entrance and is doggy paddling through some lake located in a dream. She found the blanket located closest to my feet. I can't ever be out of sight from either of them. I always know where they are and they always know where I am. Like usual, they will be thrilled when Nana and Papa get here. Selma jumps like a kangaroo and China makes ewak noises as she throws her hands up insisting to be picked up so she can give proper kisses immediately.

I rarely know what I will dump on a page until I sit down in front of my computer. But, today's subject seems one of the most worthy in the world. Cheers to the men in the world who have the strength, compassion, wisdom, the list keeps going, that it takes to be a daddy. It's obvious when you are absent and it makes a life when you are present. Present. Now that's a word. Be it and you Give it. A cherished present that lasts a lifetime and beyond. It's like those deer tracks. Even if you don't see the one who made the impression, you see the evidence.