HarperBikeBeer

My first memories of my dad are of him and me, up early in the misty mornings, walking around the yard.  He got me to listen to the “Bob White” bird, we crouched down and looked at slugs, Bubba’s daffodils, crocuses pushing up out of the dirt in the springtime.  I would often be in my pajamas.  The morning cool and new.  My dad, calm and quiet.  He and I were the early birds in the house, and it was such a peaceful start to my rambunctious days.       I remember my Dad in faded jeans and an orange tshirt.  I remember him jumping into a swimming pool and plucking me up from the bottom, where I had sunk after jumping in, not aware that I couldn’t swim yet.       My Dad took a lot of photos of Lee and me.  He drove us to Opryland, to King’s Island and the Cincinatti Reds game, all the way to Colorado, and to Disney Land.  In the grey van with the parquet ceiling and the shag carpet walls with the 8-track player loaded with Barbara Streisand and The Doobie Brothers and Nathaniel the Grublet.  He sang the scary deep voice part of the haunted woods song.  He pointed out how beautiful things were, no matter where we drove he found beauty.  My Dad knows what kind of crop it is in every field we pass.       My Dad pats his knee to the music when he’s driving and happy.  He laughs easily and often.  He drove me to school in the mornings.  When he would come home from work I sat in his lap on the couch.  He played Ride That Horsey with me on his knee.       My Dad grew bonsai trees, tiny still-lifes on our back patio.  He feeds the birds.  He keeps his yard a perfect balance between wild and thoughtfully planted.       My Dad used to have giant candy canes in his office at Christmas time.  And pencils with many colors that said “McGuffey Insurance” on them.  He left cookies out for Santa and always builds fires for us in the fireplace.       My Dad took us fishing and camping.  He drove a white car with white leather seats, and I would stand behind him and bite the headrest.  He had a yellow MGB convertible and would drive us around the neighborhood when he got home from work.       My Dad is called Grubby.  He often has dirt under his fingernails and poison oak.  He loves marigolds and petunias and geraniums.  He taught me that one of the most beautiful sounds in the world is of the water dripping off of a canoe paddle in the middle of the lake.         My Dad could brush my snarled rat’s nest hair without making me cry.  Slowly and gently.     My Dad loves the Crimson Tide and the Hilltoppers and the Titans.  He and I watch sports together many miles apart and when I look at the moon and it is beautiful, I know that he has noticed it too.      My Dad lost his brother way too early.  My Dad visits his momma and daddy every day.  My Dad has always made me feel that when he is with me, there is no other place on the earth that he would rather be.          My Dad is an amazing Dad.  I am so lucky to have had him as mine.  And I am so lucky that I get to watch him do it all over again with you as his grand-daughter.  My Dad is Ha-Ha, and we love him more than the ocean is big.