one saturday with Daddy

the morning i was to be married, i woke up and heard my father crying, hidden behind the bedroom door. 

i honestly thought he'd be happy to be rid of me, to have another man take my mercurial soul off his hands. 

what will we do? i recall asking my mother, who was not crying at all. 

he'll be fine, she said. don't worry.

overnight, Lydia and cohorts had thrown toilet paper high into the oak trees in the front yard, and i remember him coming by my room, asking me what i wanted to do about it. the reception was at home. and then, as i scurried around getting ready for my big moment, i looked out the window, and my father was swatting at the toilet paper with a rake. though he stood more than six feet, his efforts did little to pull the paper down.

by the time he walked me down the aisle he had dried his eyes, smiled a little, and though i don't remember what he said to me i felt certain, probably for the first time in my life, that Daddy would miss my presence. 

a small combo played at the backyard reception, and though i had not yet danced with my new husband, Daddy and i stole a few moments away from the guests for a dance, both of us quietly sobbing this time.

no one was watching, and i don't even recall the song. 


none of that matters now. because the feeling of that moment lingers, still.

10.10.1981

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