Dadey
Do you ever dream of your parents dying? I dreamt a lot about my Dad dying when I was a little girl. Not as often now that I’m a grown-up but I still have them once in a while. Then and even now, I’d wake up crying.
For the good part of the day after the nightmare, I’d dwell on my thoughts about my Dad and what to say in his eulogy. I know, I’m morbid but indulge me. I just drove through icy roads and blowing snow this morning and thankful that I made it to work and back.
Anyway, back to the eulogy. I try to outline what I’ll have to say and to my dismay, I start crying again because I regret the fact that I wish he could hear all the good things I say about him. So instead of waiting for the eulogy, I now tell him what I feel about him and how much he means to me every chance I get, which is basically every two weeks when I call home. And although I doubt it if he will read this posting on my blog, I’ll write this for him anyway.
I remember a time when my Mama went back to school to get her degree. Dadey would come home from work and take charge as soon as Mama leaves for school. He’ll give Arcee, Dingdang, Boybee and me — long, fun baths. We’d make horns on our heads and boobs out of soap bubbles, then he’ll scrub our skin until we felt sore. Then he’d feed us dinner. When we had fish, he’ll take out the fishbones and arrange the meat all around the plate. He made it fun to eat. During frequent brownouts during a storm, he’d send me and Arcee to the neighborhood store to buy Peewee and Cheez-It chips and we’ll camp in the living room while he tells horror stories. He always said they were true stories, even including my aunts and uncles and citing locales like the river downtown and the big trees in their backyard where he grew up. He made the stories seem so real that we would be left scared to our wits end that we”d end up sleeping in one room. He just made life so good for all of us. We never felt deprived of anything that it came as a surprise to know that we were not rich. Really.
I always thought we were. When I was in Kindergarten, my teacher asked the class who among us were rich. I didn’t hesitate to raise my hand. I got everything I needed. Didn’t that make me rich? Looking back, I give credit to my Dadey for making me feel that way. He’s been a good provider, in every sense of the word.
(to be continued)
