a girl and her daddy
hey. want to ride with me to pick up the pizza?
i think we need us some rice krispie treats. let's go up to the food lion and get some marshmallows.
you comin'? we'll get us a egg biscuit at mcdonald's on the way to the farm.
lay on down for a minute if you want to. i'm just resting.
you sure do love to watch somebody work. talk to me while i finish these daggum dishes.
mhhm. look at those stars. / listen to that rain. / you gotta picture what it's all gonna look like. can you see it? purty good, right?
invitations. small, unremarkable, unhurried, frequent.
and she said yes and alright and okay and i reckon and be there in a minute and yep uh-huh cool that's awesome yeah.
and they would ride together rest together eat together work together (well, mostly he would work) be wowed together envision together.
but mostly in short sentences
with a lot of silences in between.
he taught her this.
later on, when she came home from college or her life in another place,
he didn't ask her a lot of questions.
he didn't tell her everything he'd been up to.
sometimes, he didn't even hang out in the same room.
he just wanted to know she was there.
she recognizes the ability to ride in silence as a measure of her comfort with another person.
she understands the contentedness of just knowing her daughter is nearby.
she still touches the sleeves of his suit jackets when she goes to her mama's house sometimes.
she just wants to know he was there.
This post is about my dad, who died 12 years ago today. It belongs right here in this week of exploring deep connections. If you're looking for past posts about my father, here are some: still not here after all these years, the parent who remains, i don't hate october 17, but i'm not too fond of october 18--with apologies to m, a place called farm, this year.