Happy Fathers Day!
When I was about six, I would
rest my arms on the window pane in my bedroom, and wait for my father to return from work. When my arms got tired, I would
lay in bed and listen for his leather Cowboy boots hit the concrete leading to
our front door. You
see, my father had a dangerous job, so I was afraid he would not return for
what seemed like years every time he went to work. I could not close my eyes until I was sure
of his save return.
There were times when I was awake
at my window when he returned, and I loved to hear his Cowboy boots walking
toward our front door, he felt as though his boots stepped in rhythm with my
heart.
Sometimes, I wondered if he was
my father, or an imposter, I’m not sure why, but I would be willing to bet, it
was because I didn’t see much of him.
To me, he was an untouchable hero- I can roll my minds eye back in time, and his black curly hair, greenish blue eyes, Cowboy belt buckle, and
of course, his boots.
My father was a Captain at our home towns Sheriff's Office for thirty years, not by choice, but because he had children to feed,
my oldest brother, followed by my middle brother, and me, the youngest. He wanted to train horses, and he tried it
for awhile, but my parents had to move to a city out in the country far from
Doctors and hospitals, so his dream died when my brother developed asthma. This is a story I’ve been told, and I believe
it’s true, although my father never spoke about his dreams, and never
complained about the sacrifices or choices he made, he just did the right thing.
