Most of my ramblings I call anecdotal stories of my childhood revolve around me and sometimes my mother. Somehow, I have left out my daddy--for no particular reason or intent. Actually, he was the best daddy anyone could have. I don't remember that he ever scolded me and certainly he never spanked me.
I will give credit where it's due, and that is much of the time Daddy was gone during the week and came home on Fridays. That took him out of the picture a great deal. Still, he was present always in our hearts, minds, and conversations.
Daddy was bald by the time he was 23. He'd had thick curly blond hair to go with his beautiful Davis blue eyes, but genetics dictated that he lose it quickly and ended up with a ring of hair around his scalp. That's the only way I ever remember him, so that was his natural look.
As soon as he could afford them, he wore Stetsons and cowboy boots. Oh, I loved him in those.
Mother had dark brown eyes--and I got those. Daddy sang a little here and there, and he'd sing the old Western song to her, "Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes...I'll never love blue eyes again."
Daddy was a patient man...very patient. He liked to tell people he was bald because he lived in a house filled with females.
~*~He was the one who told Mother--"I think it's time to curl Celia Ann's hair," and Mother would put a permanent in it so it would match my younger sister's naturally curly hair.
~*~He wanted us dressed up as much as possible, because we were transit oil field people during my early years. No one ever saw us ragged or dirty or unkempt in any way. He polished our white high top shoes once a week.
~*~Once my older sister dropped her engagement ring down the toilet. Of course, she was hysterical, but Daddy calmly turned off the water and dismantled the commode and somehow found the ring way down there.
~*~Another time, we were all dressed to go to a wedding. I went to use the bathroom, and accidentally hit the shelving that sat above the tank. A large bottle of Mentholatum fell into
the commode and it zoomed right down and got stuck. Daddy calmly returned to the bedroom, changed from his dress clothes to his work clothes, and told us to go on to the wedding. He didn't want to go anyway.
~*~When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I had slumber parties. One summer the party was at my house, and we made beds in the backyard in makeshift "tents" of quilts draped across overturned lawn furniture. At midnight, here came the boys, tiptoeing down the driveway to the back of the house. After they harassed us a little and we played around the yard, two boys climbed on top of the carport and onto the top of the house. Oh, they were quiet, they thought, but my daddy heard them.
He charged out the back door in his boxer shorts and no shirt and gave them the what-for.
~*~A great memory was sitting on the ice cream freezer on a towel while Daddy cranked the handle to turn the blades inside. During that time, he talked to me and I always enjoyed that time.
Daddy always told all of us three girls how pretty we were. I grew up with the thought that I was beautiful. Nope. I also thought we were rich because we always had new clothes and shoes. Nope. But he worked hard, and often at a second job to pay for the things we wanted. I even got a piano in the sixth grade.
People respected him. He was a quiet man and the only time I heard him raise his voice was when he ranted about someone he worked with.
Our country would be so much better off if all men were like my daddy.
Celia Yeary-Romance...and a little bit 'o Texas
Sweethearts of the West-Blog
My Facebook Page