My Dad

I guess it's fitting that I would have a dream about my dad now. After all, "his day" is Sunday.

My dad was a strong, quiet man with bow legs, big hips and broad shoulders. He was light skinned in a time when being a fair skinned black person was considered a good thing. He had the softest, curliest hair I have felt. When he got mad at me, he would say, "I didn't have any gray hair until you came alone."
I always responded by saying, "You were old when you had me."
Both statements were true. My dad was in his mid 40s when I was born.
I'm a farm girl. At age 7, he taught me how to drive a tractor. At the time, I thought it was something special. As I got older, I realized I was a neccessary worker on the farm. (smile) Either way, I was driving.
He taught me how to drive a car when I was 9. I learned how to drive a stick shift when I was 14.
I made my school's baseball team when I was in the sixth-grade. Really, as a fat kid, I had a pretty powerful batting arm, but that was about it. I couldn't run to save my soul and I couldn't catch. So I was stuck in left field.
I needed a right-handed glove. I was scared to ask my dad for one because, hey, we were poor.
But one Wednesday night - the day before my opening game - my dad sent me to his truck to get the weekly newspaper.
I went to the truck, lifted the newspaper and there was a right-handed glove, a good one and an expensive one that I still have!!!!!
Man, I loved that and I love telling that story.
I loved my dad and I loved how he made my mom feel.
I remember when I was a young teen-ager seeing my dad standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at my mom and saying, "umm, umm, umm... come bring me some sugar."
My mom would bounce out of the kitchen with the sugar bowl and say, "Marion, is thi the sugar you want." and My dad always replied, "Now you know that's not the kind of sugar I'm talking about."
They would kiss and my mom would return to the kitchen with a smile on her face and finish what ever meal she was preparing.
They had been married 30-plus years when this happened.
Now don't get me wrong, my folks argued all the time - more than I care to remember.
But they were married for more than 40 years upon his death, and I know that's because my dad made a commitment to my mom, our family and to himself.
He stayed when so many men didn't. Several of my uncles left their wives and children in search of something better.
But my dad didn't. Though there were a lot of hard days, there were some good ones, too.
But why focus on those.
I'm not married yet, but whemI do get married, I pray that the man I marry will be the kind of husband my dad was to my mom - the kind of man who made my mom feel loved, wanted, sexy and appreciated with just a couple of "um, um, ums."
I pray that Dion will one day think about his dad with love and longing the way that I am now.
My dad has been dead now more than half of my life. Yet I still think about him and love him.
My son carries his name and I pray that he carries his spirit.
I can't wait until I can start telling him about his grandfather and the kind of man he was.

I love you dad.