Let there be no mistake about it, I am a daddy’s girl. It’s rather strange actually, as I spent much of my formative years rarely seeing him, but he always fought to maintain as close of a relationship with me as he possibly could. That grew harder when my mother moved me to Texas just before I entered high school. He really came through for me after a bit (understatement) of drama between myself and my homophobic step-dad. On 10 hours notice, my dad drove 1,200 miles to pick me up and take me home with him. He did it in a red Ford Ranger.
In fact the red Ford Ranger, a secession of them actually, is the only vehicle I’ve ever known him to drive, It was the truck he taught me to drive in. It was the truck I crashed into a tree. It was the truck he drove me to middle school in every day, just to squeeze in 20 more minutes with me. It was the truck I rode around in the bed of surveying his family’s farm, or driving out to our favorite fishing hole. It was the truck I lost all bed riding privileges in when I jumped out at 25 mph to see what would happen. What happened was my first concussion. .
Most important, it was that truck we drove around in rather aimlessly to look at cows or houses or other things that didn’t really matter, while we had our deepest and most important conversations. I came out to him in that truck, and he accepted me. We talked about options for dealing with my teenage pregnancy in that truck, and he didn’t look down on me. He explained things to me and assuaged my fears in that truck, and he promised not to tell anyone when I cried. When times were really hard, it was the truck where we talked baseball and checkers strategies Where we debated politics for fun, and he told me stories of his reckless teen years to get me to laugh. It was while riding around in that red Ford Ranger that it was the most abundantly clear how much my daddy loved me.
It’s been a long time since I rode in that truck. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my dad. Texas to South Carolina is a long and expensive trip, and he drives a much bigger truck for a living without much time off. I am perpetually cycling between taking college classes or working to pay for college classes, so a cross-country trip isn't for me either. I guess I am lucky to live in an environmentally friendly city with less than efficient but very affordable public transit, but it means I haven't driven a thing since the last time I drove that Ranger. It's been about ten years.
But a warmer sun is rising now. I am finishing college and en route to my professional career. Daddy is getting closer to retirement and joining his daughters in Texas. He's also getting closer to Granddaddy; my partner and I are preparing to become parents. I know I'll never be anybody's daddy, but I hope I can be to my kids what my daddy is to me. Not highly educated, but very wise. A checkerboard psychologist, who knows all he needs to know about a man by the way he moves his kings. A man who never stops believing in me, especially when I stop believing in myself. A hanger of stars and a deeply flawed saint. As if there were any other way to start treading his footsteps, I'm saving up for a down payment on my own red Ford Ranger.
Daddy and Me
Riverbanks Zoo and Garden, Columbia SC, 2006
(The tortoise behind us is 100 years old.)
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