Yesterday’s
song was about the wind. Today Mother Nature seems to be listening to my
playlist. The wind is so blustery I feel like grabbing an umbrella and seeing
where it takes me (a la Mary Poppins).
Do you
recall Winnie the Pooh’s The Blustery Day?
Today brought it to mind. It didn’t blow in a Tigger, but it did blow my
Christmas tree (which I finally managed to haul to the curb) down the block a
bit. “Owl talked from page 41 to page 62, and on
page 62, the blustery day turned into a blustery night. To Pooh, it was an
anxious sort of night, filled with anxious sorts of noises. And one of the
noises was a sound that had never been heard before.” – A. A. Milne
I was
reflecting upon the era when my dad lived in Wichita during my late high school
and college years. Specifically I was remembering a car ride with just me and
my dad along the Kansas Turnpike with a tornado accompanying us. I’ll come back to that tale in a bit. First, I’d
like to share a few reflections about my dad.
My parents
divorced when I was 5, and time with my dad has always been precious and scarcer than I would have wished. Divorce is hard on kids. Everyone talks about how
children are resilient, and this is true. But since I’ve been 5, I’ve only had
visits with my dad. I never did live with him again in any permanent capacity. I’d
stay during a college summer or in transitional periods of my life while seeking a new job or apartment, but by
then I was a pseudo-adult. Those eyes see our parents from a different angle. I loved looking up.
I adored my
father when I was a little girl. I have huge blocks of time without a single
tangible memory in them. Remember the Men in Black memory zapper light thing
(technical term)? I swear to you there are entire months of my life that are
lost to me. Perhaps years. But the handful of seasons I spent on our family’s
farm with my dad pre-divorce are filled with an overwhelming amount of warm
memories.
He played
guitar with a friend, and they made up a song about farming. I can still sing
it. I would lay on the floor snuggled next to him to watch a football game,
although I had NO interest in the sport. I just wanted to be close to him. I
got piggy back rides that made my heart giggle. I hid his cigarettes (which he
eventually quit – thank heavens) because I was terrified he’d get sick and I
couldn't imagine a world without him. I would rush to the door when he came
home from work (he was a recruiter with the National Guard at the time
and I thought he was so brave and handsome in his uniform). We had cattle and
would go visit “the girls” together. He made me feel adored through no precise
action I can articulate - simply by being near me.
Post
divorce, the closest we lived to each other was 5 hours by car. Often more. With
a stepfather who was a minister, we were bound close to home every weekend for
church. It makes sense that I only saw my dad for holidays and a few weeks in
the summer, on paper. I don’t know the adult details of my childhood that made
me share so little of my dad’s world. They don't matter today. I only know that I ate up the time that I
was given like spoon fudge and always, always wished for more. Perhaps we had a special bond or
maybe that’s just how little girls love their daddies.
Back to the
car. Kansas Turnpike. The tornado. (See I do swing back around after my
tangents - promise). I was high school age – maybe 15 or 16. I don’t recall the
circumstances, but I had 7 solid hours in the car alone with my dad. I was
nervous. I was thrilled. The gift of intentional time with no distractions between
us was new to me. We had no magical talk. We shared no earth shattering truths. We ate at the Toot Toot Lounge along the way, for heavens sake. I didn't need frills to make that car ride a memory I embrace. I don’t
particularly even care that there was a tornado that followed us for miles. (We
lived. Clearly.) I just appreciate having a memory of dedicated time alone with
him.
Tonight’s
song is an oldie blown in by the wind bringing memories of a moment in time. It’s one my dad used to sing to me as a little girl. It makes
me feel about 4 years old to hear this song. It makes me feel cherished.
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