Why I Am the Way I Am

My Father is many things.

He is methodical- my Father believes that everything has a system and everything should be done by the system.  (My Mother's mission in life is be the opposite)  When ever we went on our family vacations (or our Wandering Spirit quests as I called them) he would pack the car.  My Mother wasn't allowed near the car until it was done.  Everything had it's place and Lord help us if we moved something.  The tent went there, the sleeping bags here, the tool chest (yes because we had to be prepared for anything) went right in the front.  Perhaps this is why my car is weighed down with emergency supplies that I might need some day.  I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have anything else in the car if he had his way- kids included. *snicker*

He is precise- my Father likes to everyone to do things the right way- usually his way.  There is no glass half full with my Father.  Either you did it right or you didn't.  C's and B's were not tolerated in my Father's house if there was the slightest belief that one could have earned an A.  You did every bit of your homework without being asked twice and you did your chores to the letter or Lord help you if Father found out.

He is focused- when my Father speaks it is after much thought and he is always clear and precise.  It is sometimes overwhelming how very much he thinks before he speaks.  It also makes me wonder where I get my ability to just spit out whatever is in my head without thinking.

He is a good cook- when my Father cooks everything is a master piece and nothing is over cooked, under cooked, or bland.  On Thanksgiving every year all the women are kicked out of the kitchen and the men and the boys (namely my Father) cook all of the meal.  This might be considered an act of charity to the women but I suspect this is to keep my Mother's cooking talent (or lack there of) out of the kitchen.

He is a good artist- I have seen my Father free hand anything from a manatee that you could just imagine leaping out of the water, to a castle from my dreams, to the Imperial Star Fleet from Star Wars.  He can draw, sketch, paint, and color anything.  Every time I needed help for one of my book reports (you know the kind that every teacher assigns in Elementary School that really is graded on your parent's artistic talent and organization) I wouldn't even bother with Mama (no offense, Mama... but you understand) and go sit at my Father's desk until he came home, crocodile tears ready, blue eyes begging for assistance.  I would like to point out that he is also colorblind so his aid on my homework was a fair trade off for the hours I would spend sitting with him while he colored in order to tell him what color marker/crayon/pencil he was using to color in the sky, the ocean, the star fleet, or whatever.

He likes to fix things himself- this is really one of my favorite qualities about my Father excepting the sprinkler system.  It was very frustrating when I had to sit outside while he held up various wires and asked, "which one is red."  It wasn't so bad in the fact that I got "alone time" with my Father (my brothers were not interested in this aspect of the house... and what's more is at least one of them turned out to be colorblind as well) but it was very frustrating to my conscience.  I kept on wanting to tell him the blue or green one was red... this was only exacerbated by the fact that some times... there wasn't a red one.

He loves to see new things- my Father once convinced my Mother to drive from our home near Disneyland (in Southern California) to Mobile, Alabama to see the U.S.S. Alabama, under the guise of a field trip.  (I learned lots of things.  Among the greater points on the list were "I don't like Alabama", "I can't figure out if this is a destroyer or a battle ship", "Men in uniform are really cute."  My Father did not appreciate this last learned fact.)

He can turn anything into an educational experience- my Father has been a teacher for quite some time (my entire life and then some) and has this, shall we say, challenging ability to take even the blandest of trips into a lengthy discussion of philosophy, mythology, geology, history, biology, and theology.  Please note, I never liked any of those subjects until I moved out, but his love for teaching got me out of a tough spot a few times in college when I forgot to do the reading.  Now I wonder why he never lectured us on Algebra.

He is rarely surprised- I say this with amusement because he suspects everything.  That being said my Mother spends at least some of her time trying to shock him.  It does not happen frequently... but oh when it does.  My Mother wanted to go to the zoo in Santa Barbara and spent a few days trying to convince him.  He finally grumbled that there was nothing at the Santa Barbara zoo but an old bear and a toothless tiger.  She opened her mouth to speak and he imagined her suggesting that they hadn't been there in a while and perhaps the zoo had changed and maybe they had gotten more animals.  He had a response for anything she could say... except what she said.  With an enthusiastic smile that only my Mother could get away with she said in the most delighted voice, "Dear, maybe the bear died!" and for the first time in my memory, my Father was speechless.  

He is an incurable pessimist- my Father believes that the worst will always happen.  He is always certain that my Mother will get lost in some foreign town (I don't tell him about my continued adventures with the Texas Highway system), that I will die alone, and that I will become a nun.

He is a hopeless romantic- I always thought that women were required to be the romantics in a relationship but my Dad cried at his wedding, at every anniversary party, when I moved away, and at the end of every sappy movie. Every spring he writes a letter to my sister and if he reads it to us he loses it.  

He is stubborn- when he is right he is right and there is no point in arguing with him because he will NEVER change his mind.  I found this out when I tried to introduce him to a guy I was dating.  He didn't want to meet him, which is just as well because the guy didn't want to meet my Father either.  Needless to say, that boyfriend didn't last.  

He is reserved- on numerous occasions my friends have taken me aside and asked if my Father disliked them because he does not talk unnecessarily.  This very well might be true as I have only heard him say that he liked three of my friends in my life- Nancy, a very quiet, kindhearted girl I met in High School, Bernie, who conveniently lived a million states away, and Katrina, who he has said reminds him of my Mother when they first met.  Katrina also lives a million miles away from him.  

In oh so many ways he is imperfect but isn't it our human qualities that make us perfect?  I may sit and wonder  if he likes what I'm doing with my life.  I sometimes think, "What would Daddy do?" Some of his passive comments in my childhood still haunt me- but I never have to question that he loves me.  I am methodical- there is a mind to my madness. I am precise- things should always be done the right way. I am a good artist- this is a fact so it needs no repetition.  I like to fix things that are broken but won't fix things that are just fine.  I like to see new things although the U.S.S. Alabama was NOT one of them.  I turn everything into an education experience much to my godchildren's chagrin.  I am a pessimist... but I am a romantic pessimist   I believe the worst will happen even while I will the best to come. I am every bit as stubborn as he is but in a good way.

I am not focused- I am decidedly easily distracted. I'm not a terrible cook, but I am getting better. I am ALWAYS surprised. People are always sneaking up on me and I never notice.  I am reserved.  It takes me a while to trust someone and let them love me.  The more I look at myself the more I realize why I am the way I am.  I am my Father's daughter.