I am writing this in purple because he called it "burple" and it was his favorite color. He taught me to count when I was three or four years old. We lived on a ranch, way outside Kingman, Arizona at the time, and far away from the lights of town. On hot summer nights, he would take me outside and we would lay on a lawn-chair, looking up at the millions of stars. He would say "How many can you count"? He always counted with me. Then Mama would come out, after finishing dishes, and bring us a fresh peach from the tree. I can still smell those peaches. Daddy had a space between his two top front teeth, and a big wide grin. Sparkling blue eyes and red, red hair. He usually smelled like a combination of horses, leather and sweat (sweet perfume to me). The night after he had died (I was 45 years old) I was laying in bed, exhausted from the emotions of the previous 2 days, not thinking, just being...and I felt a hand on the top of my head, caressing me. That was my Daddy's hand.
Tags: Dad
