For Dad

I have been lucky to have had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with my father. Truth be told, not all of it has been pleasant. The unpleasant times are usually due to my failure to adhere to certain rules or expectations. In general, about 99% of them have been my fault. On this particular Father's Day I find myself several hundred miles away from home and thinking about the man who has made me so much of what I am today. I was thinking back over the years reminiscing of funny times, sad times, long nights, and sleepless morning working on the farm. Out of all those times, one night keeps coming back into my mind over and over again. I find it odd that this would be the story I choose to tell about my father today. It's not an amazing story and should, it would seem, be lost forever from my memory by now. For some reason, however, it still hangs around as clear as the night it happened.

When I was probably 12 or 13, we all did a great deal of rabbit hunting. Dad, my brother, my cousins, other friends and I would all load up the dogs, go out in freezing weather and try to locate and decimate the local rabbit population. One evening, and I don't think it was even rabbit season, Dad and I loaded up the dogs and took them over to Uncle Homer's place across Hog Tusk. There were rabbits and the occasional deer over in the bottom near Uncle Dub's place. As I recall we had about three dogs and let them out of the box to run. They hit on a rabbit or a squirrel and ran for a long time. Dad and I walked along in the woods listening. As it began to grow dark, we were able to catch two of the dogs. One, however, continued to run endlessly down in the bottoms. Her barking echoed over the water, and we knew she was much further than we could walk before dark. We headed back to the truck with the other dogs.

When we arrived, we loaded the other dogs up, dropped the tailgate, and waited for the other dog. As darkness fell, we built a fire in front of the truck using some old tree limbs that had fallen along the wood line. I don't know how long we sat there waiting for the dog to come back. Dad and I talked the entire time. I remember some of the stories he told. I've probably heard them a dozen times since then by my own prompting. I remember listening to him talk and worrying that I would never have such stories to tell people when I grew up. He told stories of when he was my age, and when he was in high school. He talked about people I knew and told stories of people I feel as though I now know. My uncles, grandparents, aunts, and Dad's coworkers all seemed so different in those stories. I discovered that I knew them differently than Dad. Others, like the mysterious Frank Poe, I have never met but feel as though I know just from hearing Dad's stories about him. I think I would know him instantly if I saw him.

Dad and I talked into the night. Then, as now, the night passed all too quickly. I remember not wanting to leave and halfway hoping the dog wouldn't show up so we would have to spend the night. In time we heard the jingle of the dog's collar and saw her eyes light up in the firelight as she approached us in the darkness. We caught her, put her in the dog box, and waited for the fire to die. It only took minutes and they went by far too quickly. I climbed back into "old blue" and we drove out of the field, onto the dirt road that went up to Hwy. 78. We made the left, crossed Hog Tusk, drove past Charles Flowers, then past Papaw's field and by Miss Laveta Mae's house. We turned left in front of Miss Sue's store and drove through the metropolis of Aubrey in the moonlight until we reached our house. We put the dogs up, and I suppose the night ended much like any other at our house.

I went to sleep that night thinking of Dad and his life and wondering if mine would be half so interesting to tell someone about in the future. I think about that night more tan you think one would considering it was fairly uneventful. Of all the big things that have happened in my life, I don't think, when you combine all of them, that their sum total can exceed even one of those moments with Dad. I'm glad I have a million more of those little moments to last the rest of my life.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! Thanks for the memories and all you've taught me!