FORGIVE ME, I DIGRESS...

As a little girl I remember I often sat on my dad’s lap or between his legs as he drove the family car. I loved this. I felt as if I were driving, but even more so, I recall feeling quite special. I certainly was “Daddy’s little girl”.

I remember too, that if I wasn’t sitting on his lap, I was standing next to him as he drove with my arm around his shoulder. I was never afraid of being flown when he would brake because he always put his arm in front of me to assure I was safe. Sure, now we know it was a false state of safety, but in those days and in my youth, it was a sense of being supremely secure.

My older brother tells me that when I wanted my father’s attention and I wasn’t getting it, that I would stick my face in front of his and jibber jabber in my unique baby talk even if he were driving. He says I always managed to get the attention I wanted when I wanted it. I have to admit it’s a talent I’ve never lost.

I remember too, when I was a blossoming teenager that I decided I no longer wanted to be Norma; instead I chose “Cookie” as my moniker. Only my dad honored my request. He called me Cookie this and Cookie that and I adored him for it. It lasted all of two weeks and I tired of it. Somehow, he knew I would. I love and loved him for allowing this little girl to grow into the woman I became.

It was my father who cautioned me to be careful when I wanted to pluck my eyebrows to reshape them. At the time I thought they were too bushy; somewhat like young Brooke Shields’ brows were. But, it was my dad who told me that my eyebrows were beautiful. He even went so far as to show me pictures of 20’s actresses that ruined their brows by over-plucking and making them pencil thin...and I listened to him. As I think about it now, it is because I adored him so that gave such meaning to his tutelage and guidance. Throughout my adult life I’ve been grateful for my dad’s counsel and his interest in his teenage daughter’s concerns.

My dad helped to shape me as I grew into myself and developed my healthy self-esteem. I remember hating my full lips and the way my eyes squinted nearly closed every time I smiled, but my dad in his infinite wisdom told me that someday, not too many days away, I would come to love my lips and that I’d realize my smile was uniquely mine and it set me apart. He was right on both counts.

Now that I’m full grown and my dad long gone from this world I find myself so thankful that he was my “daddy”. I wish I knew how he grew so wise because from the little I know of his childhood it wasn’t a very good one. His mother died when he was five; he had two older sisters, but it was he alone that was sent to live in an orphanage. The only stories I know of those years come from my mother and they’re quite awful. My dad never spoke of those times.

But somewhere he learned wise lessons of life and he instilled in this daughter an appreciation of self that has sustained me all the years of my life. I know, my dear readers, that I’ve vied from my usual raging rant. I hope you’ll forgive my indulgence and perhaps take this ride with me. It’s so easy to remember the not-so-wonderful memories of our youth and I would hasten to add that I fall into that as well, but every once in a while it’s nice to recall what was splendiferous in the days of long ago…

I promise next time I’ll be back in form.