Father's Day

I can't really tell you from experience as a daughter what the definition of a father is. My own father died when I was three years old in a tractor accident. Sounds really strange and very county-ish. But it's true. He raced stupid tractors at the pulls during the summer fair in August. He would practice on old field roads, which are a dime a dozen where I'm from.

One hot summer day in July he was out horse-playing with that silly tractor he and his buddies had tricked out with testosterone, preparing for the big day that was only a few weeks away. I'm not sure how it played out exactly, except that the tractor somehow tipped over and landed on top of his chest and suffocated him. He died before help arrived. I seem to remember someone saying that my mother was there watching him goof off, though they were divorced. She has mentioned that they used to have a beer together once in a while after they split.

Not the most ideal of relationships. Two young kids who fell in love, one was barely 17 and the other 14. Somehow in the messed up life of horny teenage misfits, the younger of the two, my mother, became pregnant with my oldest sister. The marriage arrangements were made swiftly as pops came from a devout pentecostal family and we couldn't have a little bastard running around. So there they were, baby on the way, barely old enough to have a driver's license, neither old enough to vote taking vows they knew nothing about. Talk about your bad decisions.

Not that my mother would change it all now. They went on to have 3 more children over the next 5 years. Shortly before I was born they split. The odds were stacked against them. Too young to know any damn better. My mom ended up giving me to her mother to raise when I was a baby and she kept my older siblings. What other choice did a single mother with 4 kids at 20 truly have. No education, no chance in the world really. Not with her baggage, something had to give and that was me. After Dad died a few years later it all just stayed that way and seemed normal. At least for a long time it did.

I don't regret growing up the way I did. But I do regret, for my father, that he chose to drive that tractor and just happen to up and die that day. I can't imagine if he had it to do over he would chose the same fate. I wonder what parts of me are him. I guess I know in my heart he's always watched over all of us, sharing in all our lives from a distance. I only wish I could have known him up close.

Reality is I don't know him and never will. Not a single memory except for a faint moment of him cold in his casket. Seems so freaking crazy when you really think about it. A memory of a corpse, but that is mine. Don't feel bad though, I don't have a recurring dream or any uncontrolable ticks because of it. Just a bit sad today as I quietly wished him a happy Father's Day.

Lucky for me I have had another chance to witness the bond between a father and his baby girl. So lucky, in fact, that I get to see it happen twice. Happy Father's Day to you too J. I am so grateful that you are my baby's daddy.