Years and years ago, when I was much smaller – yet still the tallest in my class, I should add – and had an apparent partiality to bows:
…when I labored under the illusion that horses had, or at least should have, green noses:
…I labored under another idea which wasn’t an illusion, but a very factual, very real gratitude:
Now mind, I hadn’t much sense then, I was as spoiled as a piece of runny, unharvested fruit and usually only cared about myself; but I had a pretty good idea about the grading of fathers and that mine had achieved very high and very superior marks.
Did he not bring me a toy every time he came home from work?
Did I not – ca. 1965 – instruct mother to ‘go away and read’ so dad and I could play?
Did I not happily wear the cowboy hat he brought me – and flush the toy cosmetics mother bought me down the toilet? (though this happened over 45 years ago, that particular incident still gives me a sharp pinch of guilt)
And now? I still wouldn’t call myself a reasonable person. I’m just as spoiled, and unjustly fortunate – although far less likely to throw away any cosmetics.
And I am still so proud, so very proud of my father. In youth then as well as in my current extreme aged-ness, his gentleness, calm and wisdom set him apart from the common, grazing herd. His stint as DJ – spinning jazz platters after midnight, man:
His adventure, written up in a local paper, as Seaman 1/c falling off his ship:
Marked him, from an early date, for greatness.
Later, working for ABC, he won Emmys for video-tape editing. The first statue he won, was back when the technical awards were presented on television, and Bob Newhart announced his name. I recall hearing a shriek in the audience, which, thank goodness, turned out to be my mother.
Now that he’s retired, he plays golf, grows tomatoes, works with Boyfriend in refurbishing his 1951 Willys truck. He and Boyfriend are as thick as thieves, by the way.
Now, I have no proof that green-nosed horses do not exist. In fact, I hope to see one, and I see no reason why our joyous, verdant meeting will not happen…one day.
But I do have proof of my father’s incomparable heart – I have proof of his love and care…every day.
Happy Father’s Day