A lot of my Ffriends talk about their Mom and Dad, like they were a UNIT.
I had a MOM.
I had a DAD a time or two.
The first time was when I was bundled up, placed in a car, and a few hours later I found myself in Burney Falls, California. It is still morning as we end our trip, and Dad has a surprise for us. Two brand new Huffy Bicycles from the nearby Western Auto store. Dennis’ is bigger. And mine has a clunky set of training wheels.
Within a few days one side of the training wheels gets raised, I am so proud, and by the end of the two week visitation period, the training wheels are gone.
The visit is up, it was lots of fun, we went camping and had a generally good time. It is time to load up for the trip back home. We pack the car, but notice that our bicycles are not strapped to the car. No, the bicycles would soon be returned to Western Auto for a refund. Good memory?
I am now 12, when a car pulls up in front of our house on Ridgeway Court. It is DAD. He pulls himself from the car; a large white cast covers his leg. Dad was a Lumberjack; I knew that and was proud.
One day, I don’t know if was a wet fog-filled day, or one with dazzeling sunlight, my dad was helping a crane load an immense log onto an idling tractor and rig. The hook, holding an immense log failed and crashed down on my father’s leg, shattering the leg bone into 16 different pieces.
When he comes to visit he is on his last cast. He comes into the house and talks to us boys, but within a half hour he is in a fullbore argument with my mother. A few minutes later, dear old Dad revealed a deep dark ‘secret’ of the family line. It was easily dealt with.
In 1963 I am once again under control of the law. I am being sent to Mt Shasta under Visitation rights; even though Dad has forgotten the “child support payments” for years. It is November 1963. President Kennedy had been assassinated. I was informed by my teacher at Mt. Shasta Jr High. Later that night as we discussed the assassination, I rudely interrupted my step mother; stating “I was talking to my father”
A day later I am at my cousin’s. The cousins I did not know; I had a dozen other cousins I did know a mile away. I am watching TV when I see Lee Harvey Oswald, shot by Jack Ruby on a 13 inch B&W TV.
I am back home as I watch the funeral procession.
I see nothing of Dad for years, and then one day in 1989 I answer the door. Dad is standing there. He wants to see his grandaughters, It is the first time in 26 years that I have seen him. I allow the meeting to happen, and he is gone within an hour. Over the next few years there had been a few unexpected knocks on the door and there is Dad.
What do I do?