Dad

When I was no more than five I asked my dad where he got the machete hanging on our basement wall. He then described to me the pirate adventures he had when he was a boy. The machete was his sword. I didn’t know the difference between machetes and swords, so I ate up the story. He showed me all his scars he’d received during his years as a butcher and told me how they came from knife fights with the bad guys and wrestling sharks. And he always reminded me that neverland was “second star to the right and straight on til morning.” He still quizzes me on that.
There was a good amount of time I believed those stories. But the ones from my teen years were better, and real.

When I was in Jr. High my dad volunteered to drive the church van around to the “lesser privileged” neighborhoods and pick up any of the elementary kids who wanted to come to AWANAs that night (awanas is sort of like a church based boy or girl scouts) My sister and I were ordered to sit in the back of the van with the kids and keep them calm. This was during the very early 90s when a band called Mr. Big had a hit song that was on every radio station simultaneously. So, these kids sang that song on the van rides…over and over and over. In a couple weeks time my father (who never sang ever) knew the words and would sing along with the kids. Yes, “To Be With You” is forever burned into his brain. It was hilarious.

That spring he took all the boys from the bus to a baseball game. My extended family’s business had box seats to that same game. During the seventh inning stretch my dad took the boys up to the box but they wanted nothing to do with it. It was the first game ever for many of them and they wanted to be out in their seats. I don’t blame them, there is a lot more high fiving going on in the stands.

In high school breaking curfew was punished with the following six words, “Sit down, I want to talk.” So I’d sit in that uncomfortable tufted yellow chair by the front door while my father hovered over me talking. I’m not going to lie, I don’t remember half the things he spoke about. In my mind I was recapping the nights events. When the lecture was over he’d bring out a gun, show me how to load and unload it. When it was most definitely unloaded, with the magazine on the floor he’d show me how to knock it away if someone ever held one to me. Yeah, that’s right, stay back.

Guns were always around in our home. I never took up the hobby though my father tried. If one of us three girls ever had a boy over you could bet that the guns would make an appearance. I recall once when a boyfriend was over my father simply walked past the room that he and I were watching television in with an AK-47 in his hand and a 9mm in his back pocket. There was an amused smirk on his face and he didn’t say a word.

Of course said boy had a bit of a cow. I told him to relax. “Hey, it’s not like he’s gonna shoot you.” I said. Still, I don’t think he ever came over again.

I was never really embarrassed of that. It was just Dad.

Jeep driving, boat steering, leather jacket wearing, silver haired Dad.

About kristiane

killing spiders with my laser eyes.
This entry was posted in Blogroll, family, funner, happiness, home, Life and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Dad

  1. dailytri says:

    What a great post! I especially love the gun story and if you can explain to me how to teach my kids how to knock away a gun pointed at them, it would be much appreciated, since I’ve only fired a weapon a handful of times and have no direct experience in teaching my kids about them. Share the knowledge!

  2. essaytch says:

    “I’m the one who wants to be with you, deep inside I hope you feel it too…” I loved that song! Knew every word… Do you remember “More Than Words”? That one’s a classic.

  3. kittymao says:

    My dad was similar.
    Except instead of guns, he wielded big scientific words and spoke of days when computers were as big as living rooms.
    Instead of scaring my suitors to death, he bored them.
    Still love that partially-senile bastard.
    You know, his stories just keep getting better- they’re all mixing together now. He now talks about deejaying for the Navy radion with a hockey stick while trying to transport liquid nitrogen into Vietnam.

  4. Michael says:

    My dad was/is a pastor. That’s about it. He’s fairly okay, but I wouldn’t have minded trading dads with you for a few years just for kicks.

  5. kristiane says:

    Dailytri- it has to do with smacking the gun with both hands in opposite directions, or something. I haven’t handled a gun in years.
    Michael- So, you are PK huh? How much do you hate that phrase now?
    Essaytch- I know the words to both those songs and countless other ballads from that era. I sing them proudly in my car.

  6. Michael says:

    Yes, yes… I’m a “PK.” I don’t really mind the phrase that much because my dad’s church was really small and I didn’t grow up with too many church-going friends. And now that I’m 1500 miles away from home, not many people know about my parents. So I’ve been shielded from the “PK” label; I just find the phrase kind of funny and weird.

    But yeah…I think a trade-dad program would’ve been cool. I remember one day when I was a kid, I asked my dad a bunch of questions about faith and God and the world and stuff. The next day he gave me a book from Costco titled, “1001 Bible Questions Answered.” I’m pretty sure I would’ve much rather preferred to go out to the shooting range with your dad.

  7. randy(DAD) says:

    kris get it right FIRST star to the right !

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