Where The Story Begins
This story was shared here nearly five years ago when my daddy asked me to write a blog post about him. I said, "Really? Okaaaay."
In my two’s, three’s and four’s, I was probably the mature one. I vaguely remember sitting on daddy's lap, while cards were played, music was blasting, paper bag wrapped cans of Bull or bottles of something else, in an all kinds of smoke filled room. We lived in an apartment complex. He told me I walked him home, not the reverse.
Saturday mornings were dark and quiet until he arose. The curtains were drawn and I had to be quiet. He was probably just getting home from OUT, when I was getting up. Years later when my brother was a little older he said he thought OUT was a place and we all cracked up. He and I have fond memories of the OUTings.
Friday night was our night we got to camp out in mom’s room. I would be in the bed with my mom, my brother would be on the floor. Our Friday night television lineup was Dukes of Hazzard, Knight Rider and Dallas. My brother was awake for all of Dukes of Hazzard and half of Knight Rider. I was up for all of Knight Rider and half of Dallas. At some point in the night my brother and I were shuffled to our own rooms.
Sometimes there was a Saturday night version with Love Boat and Fantasy Island. Those were my shows. My brother watched the opening credits of Love Boat, my mom was sleep by the time Fantasy Island came on.
On a rare Saturday morning, I would see the living room and not have to ask, “What happened here?” Those were the days to be extra quiet and help out my mom or just stay out of the way.
At some point in the day she was in cleaning mode blasting Bill Withers. The Bill Withers songs must have been messages to daddy. Ain’t No Sunshine was the sad one, ♫Ain't no sunshine, when she’s gone… Just the Two of Us must have been when she was coming around; ♫Just the two of we can make it if we try…. Lovely Day must have been the soundtrack for when she was over it…♫Just one look at you and I know its gonna be, a lovely day….(but maybe she was singing to me and my brother).
Daddy’s song blast may have been, If you don’t know me by now by The O’Jays: ♫All the things, that we’ve been through, you should understand me, like I understand you. Now baby I know the difference, between right and wrong, I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to upset our happy home… (was that the apology song?)
Don't misunderstand. These were times I look back and smile. My mom still looks back and shakes her head. My daddy does too, somewhat shamefully. There were only a handful of times that I thought they weren’t going to make it. Let’s just say one of those times I called the police.
My daddy wasn’t raised by either of his parents. He was raised by his Grandmother and Aunt. There was a grandfather in the picture, but he was mostly OUT, or at work. My daddy did not have the traditional father figure to learn how to be a man or a father. He figured it out on his own.
So along comes this pretty young thing, there’s a “courtship”, she gets pregnant, they get married, and they have a baby. The rest is history.
My daddy is a great man, a wonderful father and the best granddaddy.
Since I wrote about him this first time, I written many more stories about him or featuring him. He is now in his own category.
Sharing this story with the Finish the Sentence Bloggers this week, where the prompt is, "When I think about home..."