You don't hear me say much about my dad on my blog. I guess after almost 20 years, it's still too sensitive for me to mention much. He is with me everyday in my heart and soul. It is his voice I hear warning me "don't trust no s.o.b.", "be independent", "get a good education" (a lifelong deal for me), and remember "no one will ever love you like your daddy". He was right. My dad was the one that taught me to drive a car, bait a hook with a cricket, take a fish off that same hook, operate his Glasstream bass tournament fishing boat, to bluff when playing Black Jack (I learned to count, too), mind my manners, act like a lady but be a tomboy, how to tell time, put together model cars,,, and this all started at about age six. He and my mom parted ways when I was three years old. He was in a bad car accident and was in the hospital for nine months after he hit a tree and went through the windshield. He called it "pickin' pecans with a Buick". I didn't see my dad again until I started spending my summers and Christmas with him at age six. He was Santa, a good Samaratan, hardworking, salt of the earth kind of guy. He called me "Blow-blow", "Blow" for short cause when the summer came and I was with my dad, all we did was blow and go, blow money that is,,,, mostly on the Miracle Strip at Panama City Beach. There was nothing my dad wouldn't do for me. I thought we were rich and I felt like a princess. At Christmas, we would go shopping and I would buy all sorts of things I liked. I'd wrap them and then he would pick out the ones that were going to the Salvation Army. I never knew what I was getting or giving but I picked out everything and wrapped it. I don't think he knew either. We'd load up the presents, drive to the Salvation Army house, I'd get out, run to the door and deposit the gifts and ring the bell. Then, off we'd drive. He taught me about anonymous charitable giving and how to give away things you'd really like to keep for yourself. He always had money in his pocket to give to little kids on the street or back on the farmlands. We'd always go for a long Sunday drive and I learned to drive a La Sabre Buick at age six, sitting on his lap.
I could go on for days about my dad, he was and always will be, my hero. To all you fathers out there, I hope your daughters and sons feel as blessed as I do.
My dad would NEVER believe I live in Costa Rica, permanently. When I moved to "Ha Why Ya" (Hawaii), he couldn't understand why I had to "leave the country". When funds got short, I asked him to send some money and all he said was "I'll send you $50 or a plane ticket home". I took the fifty and stayed awhile in Hawaii, never asking for money again. For all the money he did loan me over the course of my adult life, he always told me when I'd pay him back, "you're only paying yourself". I really didn't have a clue what he was talking about until after he died. There it was, an account in only my name and in it was all the money (plus interest) that I had ever borrowed from my dad. Not many men like my good ole dad.
Miss ya still, Blow.
On TeriTunes: "He Stopped Loving Her Today" - George Jones
This was one of my dad's favorite songs. My dad never remarried and I never saw him with a girlfriend. He outlived my mother by just a little but he never stopped loving her. I'd play this on the jukebox for him, if I could again. This will have to do.
