Daddy's Girl

  I have been accused of being a "daddy's girl" more than once over my lifetime. I've never been a big fan of the title. It is true that I am closer to my Dad than I am to my Mom. It is also true that I get along much better with my Dad than with my Mom. (Mother and I have had a rocky relationship all my life.)  If that is your definition of daddy's girl then I am guilty as charged. I have seen the definition of daddy's girl include someone who is indulged or spoiled by her father. That part is not true. (C will back me up on this.)
   He taught me a lot. He taught me to find a career that I like and to make sure that it pays well enough to feed, clothe and house myself with some left over for savings. He taught me to buy the best that I could afford and to take care of it so it lasts a long time. He taught me about household finances. He also taught me how to put gas in my car and to check the oil. I draw the line at changing oil myself. I would rather pay someone else to do it.
  I learned by watching him. I used to sit by him as he made out checks to pay the bills for the month. I also went grocery shopping with him. He used to cut coupons out of the Sunday paper and put then in a drawer. When it was time to go shopping, he would write his list on the back of an old envelope and put the coupons inside. He was an electrical engineer at a radio station. Sometimes he would get called out to fix a broken piece of equipment. I would sometimes go with him and watch how he did it. I learned how to fix a cassette tape player and a radio. I think the man could fix anything.
  He and I have similar personalities. We're both quiet and tend to prefer small groups to large ones. We both like all kinds of music and we like nature. When I would come to visit, we would get up early on Saturday mornings and go for a walk together. We'd walk for about an hour and then have breakfast. We both have very dry senses of humour. We are both very stubborn. I remember my frustrated mother putting her hands on her hips and saying, "You're just like your father! I don't understand him and I don't understand you!"
  There are several things I appreciate about my Dad. One of them is that he was willing to let me grow up. He had the attitude that while he may not agree with decisions I make, as an adult it is my right to make those decisions. I would have to bear the consequences, not him. I felt that he had respect for me. I also felt that he loved (and still loves) me unconditionally. He wanted me to be safe, happy and able to care for myself.
  He was not a demonstrative man. He did not hug, cuddle or kiss. That just wasn't his way. I always knew that he loved and cared about me even though he never showed it. The first time I saw him cry was when his Dad, my grandfather, died. Before they closed the casket, Dad put his hand on top of Grandpa's just for a minute. I could see tears well in his eyes. A month later his mother, my grandmother, died. That was the second time I saw him cry.
  Recently I was asked about a memory I had of my Dad. Most girls would talk about things like walking down the aisle at their wedding or going on a Daddy- daughter trip. The memory I shared was the time my Dad took me to a bar. (I was of age.) Dad would sometimes have a contract engineer come in to help him with some things at the radio station. The engineer's name was Doug and Dad liked him a lot. Doug grew up in the same town that my Dad did so I think they had a few things in common. Doug killed himself. Dad needed to talk to someone about it. That someone was me. I had already lost a friend and an acquaintance to suicide, a fact that my Dad knew. It was sort of surreal to sit in the bar with a beer and help my Dad sort through his feelings about Doug.
  That's the way our relationship is. It's a little strange, but it works for us. We are more like equals now. I field questions about medications for him. He answers my questions about bread making. (He makes a mean loaf of cracked wheat. He can also make excellent raspberry freezer jam.)
  I am grateful to be Max Story's daughter. Although he would not be counted a successful man as the world view success, he's honest, loyal and independent.  Traits that he passed on to his daughter.  I'm grateful to have those traits, I just wish I had not inherited the benign hand tremor.....