He walks the line....

I wrote a blog about cake yesterday. Let me rephrase, I attempted to write a blog yesterday in which I began extolling the fantastic-ness of cake, and how I had made some and how half of it was gone already. I wrote one paragraph, came back to it last night and upon further review, deleted the whole thing. I love cake, that is all you need to know. And now that I've covered that let's move on. The wine is flowing freely tonight, as well it should. The music is playing and the cake has been eaten and today was long. My brain feels like mush. I can not seem to string coherent thought together and that was before the second 'glass' of wine. I use the term glass loosely. It is a large plastic cup. I have wine glasses, but why bother. I would just have to refill more often. I may slightly be an alcoholic; I blame my husband's job and my father's genetics.
Ironically I could drink my brother under the table because he is an epic lightweight. I love my father, I do. Truly. I grew up in a fairly normal home or so I thought.  It wasn't until I got much older that I realized how dysfunctional we were and still are. My parents are still married, been married for 42 years actually. That's pretty amazing, huh? Yea. I moved out when I was 19, got married at 21, separated and moved back in with mom and dad when I was 25. I lived with them for another year before I moved back out again. So all in all, twenty years with the parents, and as far back as I can recall, there was not much affection. There was a lot of holding in feelings, and keeping things to myself, and always there was walking on eggshells around my dad. To his credit, he was and always will be a working man. As an adult with a family of my own, I know now what he struggled with, the stress of having to provide for a family when he couldn't find a job. I remember riding down to the unemployment office with him and my brother. He would leave us in the old red F150 with the bondo trim, and go inside to get his check. Funny how times change; people can't leave their kids in the car for a minute anymore. He was stressed, I get that now. But to my mind, I can never remember a time he was affectionate. My mother claims that I was and always will be daddy's little girl. I find this hard to believe. Or maybe I just can't see it. He's always quiet, and reserved. And until recently he was a bit hard of hearing, thank GOD for hearing aids. Seriously. Odd how he pushed for them after I had my twins. Did I mention my twins will never have cousins? That makes me sad.
So yea, quiet, and reserved, and an epic temper that usually resulted in the breaking of glass. He never laid a finger on any of us. He didn't have to. The bellow alone was enough to put the fear of God into us. The threat- wait until your father gets home? It always worked.
It's funny to watch him with his only granddaughter. She smiles her charming little grin, and calls him Pap-pap, and he happily picks her up and she sits with him and kisses his fuzzy cheek- and I'm all wth? I'm jealous of my daughter for the little bit of affection she gets from him. I'm jealous of my oldest son when he sits and plays chess with grandpa. I'm envious of girls that can call their dads and talk about anything, because I was raised by a pissed of John Wayne, whose own father committed suicide when I was only 2. I am certain that affected his view of the world too. I can not fathom that. I'm not mad though. This is the hand I was dealt, this is the family that I was given to. This is my father who paints tiny miniatures, and listens to bagpipe music, and watches food network, and has hair longer than mine. I will always love him,  even though he will always be John Wayne to me. Did I mention he keeps telling me to buy chickens and start raising them on my 'farm'? I don't have a farm. I live next to a farm. Chickens smell and they are crazy mean. I know this for a fact. Ain't happenin Dad!

Spent many years listening to dad tune his guitar and play this song over and over and over....