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written for my dad-even after 4 years of marriage-the most important man in the world |
With his long hair flying like cape around his ears and his beard in need of shearing, a cool, cool man bulging on his meaty arm, right below Reginaâs name⌠(My motherâs name is not Regina.) pants always hanging below his Bud Light belly and Santa Claus eyes twinkling behind mountains of hair. Daddyâs neck was as red as a shiny new âvette, and he was always putting some car or another up on blocks and slithering underneath. I could have recognized those legs anywhere. Faithfully, Iâd say âgoodnightâ and wait for âNight punâkin,â or better yet, âHand me that 3/8ths wrench.â In bed, my lullaby was the ball-peen hammer against sheet metal or the hiss of a paint gun. When he discovered I was a girl, there were no more trips to the brake shop-- where they sold eight-ounce Cocolas in the chest machine. Instead I was relegated to The House, Motherâs Domain, where things were always orderly, my hair was always combed, my greasy jeans, with their holes at the knees, and my âDaddyâs Little Girlâ tee-shirts were traded for neat dresses and clean fingernails. |