Remebering a Father Who Can't: Ch 2

    Dad has forever been my hero, whether I wanted anyone else to know or not.  Childhood was not all bad for any of us, and I thank God that I can look back on growing up with fondness more often than pain.
    My father has never been very expressive except in his anger, but he has always loved my mother dearly and it is apparent to everyone that his world would fall apart without her.  When I was growing up, my sister and I would get excited about Christmas or Mom’s birthday or Mom and Dad’s anniversary, because every few years he would go above and beyond simply observing and celebrating the passing of time.
    “Work hard, then you can play hard,” has always been my father’s motto and an idea he tried to instill in his children.  My fifth birthday was an adventure for him.  He planned a surprise party for me and invited every friend I’d ever had.  I didn’t have a clue.  They told me that we were going on a picnic.  When we got to the park there were bunches of other cars, but no people.  At five years old the silence was a faint and passing thought that I can only recollect now. 
    We walked into a large building and I saw decorations.  I began to wonder if we were in the right place and what the decorations were for when what seemed like a hundred people jumped up and yelled, “Happy Birthday!” in unison.  I ran behind my dad’s legs and wouldn’t let go for fear I’d crumble to the ground on my shaky little legs. 
    My dad couldn’t stop laughing as he tried to pull my claws out of legs.  He was so pleased with himself; he just hoped it wouldn’t take too long for me to loosen up and get involved in the party.  Finally, I saw a friend that I only saw a few times a year and ran to her.  I gave her a big hug as she told me “happy birthday” and I asked why there were so many people.  She chuckled as she told me they were here for my surprise party.  I thought about the concept for a moment and then started to laugh.  I was a little reserved because there were lots of people, mostly Mom and Dad’s friends I didn’t know very well, but I understood it was my party.  We played all kinds of games like tag, had water fights, popped decoration balloons, and any other number of loud, active things a child can think up.  As I was running past my parent’s picnic table, Dad scooped me into the air and gave me a great big bear hug.  His eyes sparkled as I told him what a good time I was having and squirmed to get down.
    My first horse ride could have turned out very differently.  Dad was so excited to have bought a five year-old POA leopard gelding.  I rode with Dad when he trailered him to the pasture we rented and Dad led him around the yard before he put the horse away.  He was determined to ride this horse the next day.  When he picked Sam and I up from school he stumbled over his own words as he told us that the horse neck-reined and ran like the wind. 
    We went out to the farm and Dad saddled the horse.  We sat on the fence and watched him ride figure-8 patterns and get the horse warmed up.  Then he set up three empty water barrels in the pasture and ran the horse through a clover-leaf pattern.  After the first run, Dad jumped off by the gate before the horse completely stopped.  “Did you see that?  I wish we would have timed him.”  Then he rattled on about control and speed and something about showing, but we didn’t know beans from spinach when it came to horses.  Dad had grown up with horses, but this was our first horse and we had a lot to learn and dad determined, right then and there, to teach his two girls how to handle a horse so he would have someone to discuss breeding and showing and everything else that go with the animals. 
My eyes were glistening.  I’d never seen a running horse up close, and my dad was the rider.  It wouldn’t have surprised me or excited me any less if he’d dismounted from a dragon before my eyes.  He was invincible and I wanted to do everything he did.  I thought I might be dreaming when he asked, “Do you want to ride, Donna?” 
    I was shocked.  My mind was racing.  Are you kidding me?  I can ride that?  He so big, and I’m so small.  Well, if Dad thinks I can ride, then I’m going to ride him.”  I never would have told anyone that I was terrified of and fascinated by this animal my dad controlled, but my mind was set on proving to Dad that I could ride him. 
    Dad lifted me onto the saddle and told me how to hang on.  Then he gave me the reins and told me how to steer.  My heart pounded in my ears.  He asked if I was ready and I nodded.  I took a lethal grip on the saddle horn and tried to move the reins as he clicked to the horse and led him forward.  We were moving.  I was riding!
    We rode all the way around the house once and the horse was starting to toss his head.  Dad calmly talked to him and he kept talking to me and asking me questions so I wouldn’t get scared.  He would ask me about the saddle or the reins or the horse’s mane.  Anything to keep my focus on what I was supposed to do.  Then, as we rounded another corner of the house, the horse started to kick up his hind feet.  Dad turned to face the horse and tried to rub his neck to calm him down.  He told me to let go of the reins and hold the horn with both hands.  I think I’d beaten him to these instructions.  I locked both hands on the horn before he finished telling me. 
    Each buck the horse gave was harder than the last, but I gripped the saddle between my legs held on with everything I had.  After he decided that he couldn’t calm the horse down, his only focus was on me.  He couldn’t get close enough to grab me so he would ask me if I was okay and kept coaching me to hang on.  I wouldn’t close my eyes.  I didn’t take my eyes off of him.  I didn’t want to look scared or weak.  I was tough and this was my chance to prove it. 
    On the eighth buck I lost my grip and catapulted into the air.  I could see the ground rushing toward me and Dad yelling at me to tuck and roll.  I had no idea how I could manage that feat, but I put my head to my chest and tried to push my feet in the air so I was upside down.  Then I knew I could tuck my knees to my chest and I wouldn’t land on my head.  I don’t know if I succeeded in tucking, but when I started to get up Dad had a hand on my shoulder.  His sparkling eyes dance as his chest heaved with laughter.  It was infectious.  I wasn’t hurt, just scared, but Dad was there with me. My shoulders started to shake as my chuckle grew into a full five-year old squeaky laughter.  I’d ridden a horse and couldn’t wait to tell Mom when we got home.
    After Dad stopped laughing and checked me for injuries he said, “It’s time to get back up.”  I hoped I’d heard him wrong.  He wanted me to get back on the thing?  I didn’t say a word, but I must have looked horrified because he then explained that if I didn’t get back up I would be scared of horses forever.  I didn’t want to be scared of horses.  I didn’t want to be scared of anything. 
    I put my head down, closed my eyes, and took a really big breath.  When I thought about getting back up I started to cry, but Dad took my by the shoulders and gave me a hug.  “I am so proud of you.  You stayed on for eight bucks.  But you have to get back up.  I’m going to need help if we’re going to have horses, and you won’t be much help if you’re scared.  Are you ready?”  I nodded. 
    He lifted me onto the horses back, and I clawed at the horn with both hands.  I was never going to let go of that horn ever again.  When Dad gave me the reins I grabbed them and grabbed the horn again.  I didn’t want to be scared.  I wanted to learn to ride.  We turned around and headed for the barn.  My sister was still sitting on the fence where she watched everything.  Her eyes looked like giant blue pools as she stared at me.  Her hands gripped the fence and her mouth hung open as she watched Dad lead me up to the fence.  She didn’t know what to say, so she watched until Dad helped me down.  I thought my knees might buckle as I stood on the gravel drive shaking. 
    When the horse was back inside the fence she jumped down and ran to me.  “What was is like? Are you hurt?  Are you going to do that again?”  I didn’t hear her.  My eyes were glued to Dad.  I wanted him to be proud of me, but I wanted to cry too.  I really wanted him to pick me up and take me home.  Then I would know he was happy and I could hold on to his neck so I wouldn’t cry.
    He walked toward us with a huge grin, grabbed me and threw me into the air.  That was all I needed.  I could walk tall and be happy because Dad was.  He put me down and held Sam’s hand and mine as we walked back to the truck.  All the way home he kept repeating that I stayed on for eight bucks and I was going to be one hell of a rider one day. 
    No matter how many fights we had as I got older, Dad has always remained my hero.  When I had lost almost all faith in mankind or in him, he did something special.  The object of his affection was usually my mother, but the schemes he developed always reminded me that hope was worthwhile. 
    My father is a poet.  As he grew older, it took hours of applying himself to write what would satisfy him.  One year he was particularly inspired and employed the help of my sister and me to plan a picnic in the center of the college campus where Mom worked.  He enlisted the help of her coworkers for reconnaissance on her where-a-bouts throughout the morning.  We learned when she was expected back at the office from her current errand, and I delivered balloons, flowers, a ‘sand-creation’ vase, and the first clue, which appeared as a request from her supervisor to find a certain book at the college library. This was the beginning of a wild goose chase since the book she was looking for never resided in that library.  After discovering this fact and leaving the building rather disgruntled, she saw her own bike next to a sign post with a balloon attached.  The sign was the first line of a poem my father wrote for her.  She glanced around to see if she knew anyone around that could have placed these things, because she knew it was one of Dad’s creations.  I had started placing the signs directly after I watched her enter the library, and finished shortly ahead of her beginning to follow the trail.  I biked all around campus and left 15 signs with poem lines and balloons, while my father and sister prepared the picnic. 
    As my mother collected each precious sign, with a few tears, she proceeded across the green campus full of students enjoying the summer sunshine.  My mother was crying when she came around a very large evergreen just as the large old campus clock struck noon and she saw my father standing in its shade next to a blanket and a basket.  My father, standing with a bottle of my mother’s favorite wine, grinned triumphantly and she couldn’t help but laugh.
    My parents’ twentieth anniversary was a huge deal, but Dad didn’t want Mom to expect anything.  He thought up a plan one night, and called me at my apartment at two o’clock in the morning.  His excitement was infectious even at that hour.  He decided to make one of their square dances the party, and his genius became apparent to me when he said that the dance was more than a month before their anniversary date. 
    He had worked out most of the details in his head before he called me, but he knew that he’d forget most of it before morning.  I listened to his scheme to invite all the family to have a large dinner and dance.  He asked me if I would be willing to help put the party together, which, for Dad, translates into, “will you take care of this for me?”  I was thrilled and knew that this would turn into my contribution.
    Dad handled the invitations while I took care of the party itself.  The place, time and event was already set; all I had to do was cook, decorate, and make sure Mom didn’t find out.  We decided to have the same color and flower theme as they had at their wedding of yellow and white with yellow roses and white daisies.  The decorations and dishes all followed this theme, and I needed to find them. 
    Luckily, Target was selling their annual collection of summer picnic dishes and I found the style I was looking for.  I practically filled my car with supplies for 150 people.  Next was the food.  Dad had taught me most of what I knew about cooking and catering, but I worked at a restaurant and had more recent experience so I took my ideas and ran with them.  My biggest problem was preparing the food beforehand and having my roommates not eat it.  The hardest part of this feat was tracking them down to tell them.  The easy part was telling them. 
    Every time I saw Dad he would ask how everything was going, if he needed to do anything, and who he had told about the party and who he hadn’t.  Whenever we’d be discussing the plans, he’d jump at every strange sound in the house.  I’d never seen him so excited and nervous.  He looked like he was twenty and they were dating again.  Dad had asked Sam to be in charge of the camera and the kids.  Shaking my head I told him that one of the cousins could take care of the kids because one person couldn’t do both jobs.
    After a month of planning and working, the day arrived like a trumpet blast at sunrise.  My phone rang off the hook from the first sign of light in the sky.  Dad must have called thirty times before noon.  Everything was transported and set up by 6pm and the guest started arriving at 6:15.  Mom and Dad pulled up at 6:30 (fashionably late as usual) and Mom couldn’t stop looking around the parking lot.  There were cars and license plates from out of town.  Arizona and Missouri was much farther than most guests they hosted at a square dance. 
    She was so busy trying to figure out the parking lot mystery that she didn’t notice the familiar crowd inside as Dad walked her to the door.  When they scooted through the first door, Dad had to hold her up as she saw her own parents, from Arizona, standing in the gym.  As they came further in she saw Dad’s parents and her brother, from Missouri.  She opened her mouth to speak as everyone hugged her and congratulated her, but no words escaped her lips.  I momentarily wondered if she was even breathing.  After the family had greeted her, Dad’s voice came over the sound system. 
    “Kristy, I wanted to surprise you for our twentieth anniversary so I thought we’d have the party in May.”  Everybody laughed and he said, “Most of your family and mine made the trip here and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate than dancing the night away.  Thank you everyone for coming and celebrating twenty years of Kristy putting up with me and I have a few people to thank before we get started.  First of all, thank you to our club leaders for helping me make all the arrangements.  I can’t think of a better venue for this party.  Thanks to my daughter, Samantha, for helping me with most of the planning details and invitations.  She’ll be working the camera tonight so smile big!  Lastly, I have to thank my oldest daughter, Donna, for doing the work to put this party together.  She decorated and made all the food for us.  I couldn’t have done this without all of them, but I especially couldn’t have done this without my wife, Kristy, marrying me almost twenty years ago.  But speaking of food, let’s eat!”