Alyson's Memories of Daddy

I am Daddy’s youngest girl. He always reminded me he was 37 when I was born, just like Granddaddy was when Daddy was born.

When I was little, he called me Nut, because I was cute as a nut. And one of my preschool teachers told him that he simply could not call one of his daughter’s “Nut.” It just wasn’t appropriate. So he stopped calling me Nut. A week or so later I asked him why he didn’t love me anymore. If he didn’t call me Nut, he obviously didn’t love me. He never failed to call me Nut throughout my childhood again, even when I adamantly protested. He called Cecelia Squirt. She called him Big Squirt.

While at MSMS I had a sculpture project that involved creating a bust of someone. Daddy was sweet enough to grow a beard for me so I would have less face to create for my project. After the numerous pictures I took I was able to convince him to shave off the beard into a goatee. He only kept it for a week even though I thought he looked hip and cool. I got in dorm suspension that same year while going to have pictures taken for Mom’s 50^th birthday. Daddy defended me fiercely, but to no avail. From then on whenever he signed me out, his name had a “UY” on the end. Mine did too after he explained that even though we couldn’t do anything about the situation we could quietly tell them “Up Yours.” I will miss his sense of humor and understanding of how the world works.

Daddy would make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches each morning. One for his breakfast, and one for each of us for lunch. In mine he would draw a heart, or a star, or a happy face, because when I was in preschool the mom of another child started the trend. After I had Cecelia, I called Daddy to tell him she was a girl, and I wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The first thing I did was open it to see if there was a message. It read I *heart* U.

Supposedly, Mom and Daddy had an agreement that she got up with us the first year, and he had to after that. Whenever we got sick in the night he would rush to our aid. He was amazingly talented at holding a wet wash cloth on our forehead with one hand and our ponytails with the other. I have never met anyone else that was that masterful, and greatly appreciated it when I was pregnant.

Daddy would read the Berenstain Bears books to me as a little girl. He would read through yawns and try to skip pages. When I tried the same tactics with my own daughter, he promptly notified me that he could not understand what I just said and I missed a page, with a twinkle in his eye.

He taught me to play pick-up sticks on hard surfaces, as he said playing on carpet was cheating. We would play dominoes for hours on end. First with double sixes, and then when our math skills improved double nines, and finally double twelves. His ability to work with numbers so quickly amazed me and I never realized until later he was teaching us while we played.

Daddy was an avid reader. Nothing in particular, just whatever book was nearby. We had a set bedtime but on more than one occasion it was overlooked if you were particularly swept up in a good book.

He and I would always go see the newest James Bond movies together and watch the marathon’s whenever they came on TV. I will miss laughing at them and him slowly finding out what was going on in my life without me realizing it.

He taught me to drive my car, the four-wheelers, and later the tractor, all experiences included at least one eyebrow of frustration being raised.

I will miss the twinkle in his eyes and his crow’s feet. I look so much like mom, but I knew I had his eyes. I always wondered what his crow’s feet would look like when he got old and how long it would take mine to get that deep.

I ran cross-country in junior high. He fought me tooth and nail over it because he said it was bad on your knees. Eventually he let me run, but one particular day I didn’t feel like running and he said he would run with me. I had never seen him run before or since, but that day he ran with me, well way ahead of me, and when I was ready to stop, he told me he would run another lap. I was sitting panting in the driveway when he came back around. He picked up the newspaper and went inside to read and not once was he out of breath. I will miss being amazed by what he was capable of.

I played softball when I was ten. Mom washed my uniform before the game but my sports bra accidentally got left in the washer. While I got ready to go, Daddy sat in the bathroom drying my sports bra with a hair-dryer. I seriously doubt it phased him.

Daddy taught us to be independent, open minded, and strong females. I will miss not be able to go to him and debate politics and social mores.

I don’t drink coffee. Instead I follow Daddy’s lead and have a can of coke each morning. Christmas morning he bounced in the house at 6:30 with a coke stuffed in each coat pocket. One for him, and one for me, just in case I didn’t have any in the fridge. (I just put a pack in the night before to make sure I was ready.)

Junior high was rough for me considering I was a foot taller than anyone else, including my crush. While I sobbed my worries away each afternoon, Daddy would come in and rub my hair and tell me that he loved me, I was smart, and beautiful, and funny, and if some boy couldn’t see that, they didn’t deserve me. It didn’t help the crush, but I never doubted any of the rest. I will miss him being able to give me confidence in a way no one else can.