Some recollections about my father...
My dad wore western shirts almost exclusively. Or white t-shirts when he was settled in at home. Never once did I ever see him where a shirt with a logo on it. He wore caps with logos all the time, but never shirts. He always wore cowboy boots. Seriously, I can't remember a single time I saw him wearing regular shoes.
His hobbies, at least when I was a kid, were raising a couple of horses and the rodeo. He had a female stallion (?) named Tootsie and Trigger, a Shetland pony I liked to think of as mine. He might as well have been ours. I'll never forget the time I was on his back and something made me kick his hind quarters, that horse took off 60 mph and left me on my ass before shifting gears.
Anyway, dad really loved rodeo, and he was a pretty good calf-roper. I seem to recall someone saying he liked to buck bronchos and maybe even ride bulls, but if I ever saw him do that I don't remember.
He drove a truck for a long time. I can remember waiting for him to get home on Christmas eve so we could open our presents. I don't remember how long stretches of time were between runs.
He was an industrious workaholic. The first thing he did when we moved into our new house, about 1970, he built a storm shelter on the west side. Many was the time the neighbors from both sides would show up and go underground with us when the tornado siren blew. He, on the other hand, stayed up watching for the twister until it was absolutely necessary that he go below. I think I got that habit from him.
Next he designed and built a little tin shed (that's what we called it) where he could keep his tools and do stuff. He even tapped an electrical line into it so he'd have light when it got dark. Eventually he expanded it so he'd have some extra room to store a riding lawnmower he'd bought. I loved that tin shed. Many times I wanted to take my bed and all my stuff out there and make it my own pad. Which sounded like a good idea at the time but even though dad had wired it for light, there was no heating unit or air conditioner.
He did his own roofing and every winter he'd put up what he called "bisqueen" on all the windows to seal in the heat. Every couple of weeks he would re-arrange all of the furniture in the living room. I assume he got tired of looking everything in the same place for too long. Actually that's something I'd like to do, but our furniture is too big and there's not really another place we could put the tv.
After I moved out he built a big shop in the back yard (actually it was built on what used to be a garden). I don't know his exact purpose for building it at the time, but eventually he used it for painting cars. He did that as a second job, as far as I know.
The last several years of his life his full time job was driving a school bus. Most of the kids really liked him. He was a very likable person. But I heard that one time some little shit asses made fun of his ears and that hurt him. I mean, I don't know how much he let it get it to him...he may have just brushed it off, I may just be projecting how it would have made me feel. Caseys got big ears, get used to it. Kids can be mean.
Every single morning, without fail, he would go to one of the local cafes/restaurants and drink a few cups of coffee. Most of the time he had buddies there to swap lies with but no matter, he was a creature of habit when it came to that. And he was fiercely loyal to the particular coffee shop he was patronizing...that is, he was until you pissed him off. You could find him at the 99'er every morning about such and such time, unless Norma Lee or somebody else behind the counter said or did something that made him mad, then you'd find him at the Downtown cafe, or wherever. Inevitably he'd get pissed at them a month or two later and all was forgiven at the 99'er. Once I remember he was super pissed at both of them so he'd get his coffee at a truck stop 7 miles down Hwy 99 at the Interstate 40 exit. There came a point when he'd ask me to come along and I did sometimes. I know this, though...I didn't go along nearly as much as I wish I had.
It was kind of the same way with his best friend. They'd be thick as thieves for years then one or the other would get pissed off and they avoided each other like the plague. Then, maybe a couple of months, maybe a couple of years later they would "kiss and make up" and it was like if you saw one of them you only had to wait a minute to see the other. To an extent that's the way it's gone with the only person in this town I've sort of considered a friend. Off and on, to the point where we have even acknowledged it and tried to figure out why it is the way it is.
Of course there were bad times between me and him. And of course I don't want to talk about them here. But when it was all said and done I respected and admired him for living through the hardest part of his life. That December was hell for all of us (him, Charles and me). Some of that stuff is buried pretty deep anyway, I'm not even sure myself if my memories are to be trusted. This blog is supposed to be honest and transparent, so I'm sure eventually I'll come around to some of the less pleasant things, but not now.
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