The Dad

Sunday, June 20, 2010

When I was in elementary school (6th grade?) I received my first poisonous spider bite. Dad had picked us up from school and while waiting in the bank drive through lane I leaned against the van seat and felt a sharp stab in my back. A frantic shaking of my sweater revealed one of the biggest brown recluse I think I have ever seen. Panicky and terrified I crawled to the front seat and held my dads hand all the way home. This memory has stayed with me very strongly... probably because of the fear of my flesh rotting away but I clearly remember the comfort that my dad provided by giving me his hand.

(I suffered no ill effects from the bite thanks to charcoal)

The thrilling stories I have to tell about my life usually involve my dad. The adventurous tale often begins with the explanation, "well, my dad..."

How is it that you drove a burning truck through a hay meadow?

Well, my dad is a farmer and I was driving the truck around the hay field and it burst into flames. (clearly there is more to the story here but you get my point)

Why do you have a darkroom in your barn?

Well, my dad likes to develop his own photos.

Why do you castrate cows every Thanksgiving?

Well, my dad is a rancher and Thanksgiving is when all the assistants are assembled.

How is it that you have delivered a baby sheep?

Well, my dad gave his children sheep to teach responsibility and when lambing complications arose my hand was smaller than his.

I should probably stop with the (gory) thrilling stories now...

Dad, thanks for being so stellar. Happy Fathers Day.