Father's Day

I know, I am delinquent again. Father's Day was Sunday, and this is Tuesday, but since my dad passed away a few years ago, I guess he isn't waiting for this.

Dad was born and raised in New Mexico, up around the Four Corners country. His usual mode of transportation was horseback, up until the time he could afford a motocycle. In his years growing up he worked part time as a genuine old fashioned Cowboy, helping drift a herd of mixed stuff to summer pasture. His first job was working in a Trading Post on the Reservation. Since he spoke Navaho and Ute as well as Spanish and English, he often would translate letters for the locals into English to send off to whatever Bureau needed whatever. The very first thing he bought with his wages was a turquois ring, which I have. It's a little small for me, but I can get it on my little finger. Every once in a while when I am thinking of him I will get it out and wear it.

Seeing as he had worked as a cowboy, he adopted that taciturn strong silent type mentality represented so well in the movies. It was the one thing about him that always irked the heck out of me, that he wouldn't tell stories about himself. What we learned, we learned from others. I have a copy of a picture of him at 19 dressed in black, astride a Harly Davidson, black hair slicked back and one leg drapend oh so casually over the gas tank. There had to be some hell raising going on, but us kids never got to hear about it.

I didn't always get along with him. He was a staunch Catholic, and I got to where I didn't like the church. I still don't, but dad's faith was unshakable. I guess that divesting yourself of your parents is a part of growing up. The idea is to have it as painless as possible. It wasn't too dificult for me. Uncle Sam decided he needed me over on the other side of the world, but that is another story.

There were seven of us kids, every one independent, opinionated and intelligent. I do have to say that my folks must have done something right, as there is not a one of my sibligs that I don't consider a sucess in their own way.

After I got out of the Service, I got together with dad for a guys night. He came over and spent the night, and we got a gallon of wine. By the time we got through with it he had forgiven me for every wrong I had done, and I had forgiven him for every slight, real and imagined. We were never best buddies, but we got along and understood each other. Sometimes I really miss his plain down to earth common sense and dry sense of humor.

Here's to you dad, wherever you are. I was proud of you all the way to the end and beyond.