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Got any duct tape?

  • Posted on October 21, 2008 at 5:09 pm

I’m shattered again. I want my Daddy. I want to hit the rewind button and tell everyone in the church at the funeral what a vital part of mine and my kids’ lives he was. That when my respective ex-spouses decided that involvement was too much to handle, my Daddy stepped up.

Then I want to hit the rewind button again and keep the accident from happening.

Relating the news to people who didn’t know is still difficult – I feel like I’m whapping them in the head with it. And I’m still running into folks who yell “Tell yer Daddy I said Hey!” over their shoulder as they leave. What, specifically, is the protocol there? Am I supposed to chase them down and tell them? Call ‘em up and say “I know you didn’t know, but….”?

There have been quite a few occasions where I’ve said “Daddy, where did you PUT IT??!!??” and heard his voice in my head saying “It’s right there in front of your face!” in that irritatedDaddy tone of voice. (And? It was.)

I drove a Toyota Celica when I was pregnant with Alannah. When my belly got too big for me to slide down into that car, Daddy gave me the keys to his red pickup and I drove it until after she was born.

When my first husband left (for the last time) Daddy stayed with me until he was sure that the man would not be coming back to my house.

When it was time for me to leave Tig, I called Daddy. A plane ticket was waiting for us the next day to come home. After Tig moved out of our apartment Daddy flew back, packed all my stuff and brought it to me.

Daddy was at the hospital when I delivered Joseph. Not in the delivery room, but he was there.

When they were old enough, Daddy would take them “hiking in the forest” behind our house and then creekstompin’. He taught them the necessary skills – carry a stick, don’t touch THAT VINE, and how to pee on a tree.

He asked Alannah what kind of car she wanted. With all the bravado of a teen that knows EVERYTHING she tossed off the name of my dream car – quite certain she wouldn’t get it. The car was sitting in the driveway two weeks later. It needs some restoration work, but it runs (and yes, I’m driving it. Hush.)

We weren’t done yet. And I’m angry about that.

4 comments on Got any duct tape?

I took A Long Walk off a Short Stage

  • Posted on June 10, 2008 at 10:19 pm

And all I got was this piece of paper.

Can someone call the fashion police? I think it should be illegal to make people wear this shade of orange, even in 1988. And I can’t find any pictures that I’m willing to post with the perm My Sainted Mama said would look soooo incredibly good.

You know. The poodle perm.

I remember that day being strangely anti-climactic. I somehow realized even then what I know as a fact now — it would be the last time that I’d ever see 99% of these people, even with reunions. There are some that I wonder about, especially the students that moved with me from elementary to jr. high to high school. Some of us met in the parking lot before or after rehearsal (c’mon, it’s been 20 years SURELY you don’t expect me to remember which??!!??) and I remember thinking that it was nice, but weird. One of the guys commented on said poodle perm. Something or other about the chemical smell. I wanted to whap him for that, don’t remember if I did or not. I did make him sniff my head, since it most CERTAINLY did not reek of ammonia.

When I run into former classmates in town, they all ask if I’ve heard anything about a reunion. (I haven’t.) Or they ask if I’ve seen so-and-so. (Um. No, again.)

Twenty years. Good lord I’m old.

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Okay, I’m done.

  • Posted on December 9, 2007 at 4:07 pm

It’s over. Finished, kaput, fin.

I know I haven’t given you a blow-by-blow of the last month, so let me do that now.

He has called me every day, and asked for permission to call the next day.
He is in love, calls me his precious, his love, and tells me I’m more beautiful every time he sees me.
He wants to be married in a year, maybe.

I do not give my heart so easily. I like him. I appreciate his attentions, but am in no way shape or form in love. To be completely frank, the last time he told me I was beautiful I accused him of intoxication (In my defense, I’d been at work for 8 hours and was having one of those bloated uncomfortable “omg I’m a TROLL” days).

Neither am I ready to speak of marriage.

For a few brief moments, I felt badly that I didn’t return his sentiment. I do LIKE the guy, after all.

But.

Guilt is a horrible foundation for a relationship, and I did indeed feel guilty about not being as ready as he is to commit.

But.

Last night I tried again to explain to him that I felt as much, and found that it’s not about me, it’s about him. He kept kissing me and wouldn’t let me speak. I tried to push him away so I could speak, and he wouldn’t release me.

It’s frustrating enough with the language and cultural differences, but to think that kisses can change my mind is naive at best.

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