Back…when life was simple as that
I didn’t know I’d miss it so bad
When this whole world had way less worries, nobody in a hurry and back
To mama’s home cookin’ and dad
Was baitin’ my hook and I’m sitting on a tailgate,
Thinking ’bout those days just
Wish I was back (Colt Ford, “Back”)
I loved my childhood. Sand box in the back yard, swing set, four wheeler, rec ball…I loved it. I have so many fond memories of playing with my cousins, fighting with them, working in the garden, flipping go carts…I could go on and on. Suffice it to say that growing up in the South was fun.
And I’m serious when I say that Duck Dynasty has rekindled some sort of deep nostalgia within me. It’s more than a little weird that a reality TV show that’s probably half-fake has done that, but it has. And if I need to take a good trip down memory lane, all I have to do is listen to that Colt Ford song that I excerpted from above.
Well, I did just that a few times and tonight, I want to write about my dad before I go to bed.
He and I are more alike than either of us would like to admit. We are both great people persons and we both work very hard to be sure that everyone around us is happy. (I’d be willing to bet he’s an ENFJ – like me…or I’m an ENFJ like him…however that works)
It suddenly occurs to me that most of the great childhood memories that I have involve my father. Here’s but one of those…
One of my childhood companions – Hendry – was over at the house one day. We decided that it would be a good idea to pick up rocks from the gravel driveway, and try to hurl them on top of the roof of the house. This was a foolproof plan, except for the fact that my mother’s car was parked in the carport – underneath our target.
I threw a rock with everything I had. I might have been 6 or 7 years old at the time – so I admittedly didn’t have much…and the rock didn’t quite make it to the roof. Instead, it crashed into the rear window of my mother’s mid 1980s white Honda Accord.
(I know the picture isn’t a white Honda, but that’s still a pretty sweet ride, huh? I loved that little car. I’ll probably write more about it later.)
Back to the story…
I knew that the rock I threw had probably cracked her rear window; we might have even inched forward stealthily, like guilty kids do, to inspect and verify that there was, in fact, a crack there.
I don’t remember, to be honest.
I do, however, remember that I got off the school bus the next day at my grandmother’s house. I had my bologna sandwich and watched He-Man just like I always did.
Then my dad came home. It seemed like he was home a little earlier than usual.
He was quite serious as he entered Grandma’s house. In fact, I’m not sure he even entered. I know he came to the door, and then he and I had a conversation on Grandma’s porch. Just the two of us.
“Did you throw a rock and hit your mom’s car?”
“uuuuummmmmmm.” I said, staring at the floor of the porch…wishing I was somehow under the porch, escaping this intense interrogation.
“Well, did you”
To be completely honest, I don’t know what I said. I don’t know if I lied about it. I don’t know if I admitted to it. I’m not sure if I just sat there and stared like a confused little puppy. I’m just not sure.
I do remember that at some point, my father said, “You lied, son, and I have to punish you.”
And for all of the things I don’t remember about that conversation, one thing does stick out: I’ll never forget the look on my Dad’s face when he said that to me.
I’ll also never forget the look as he bent me over his knee. He must have been experiencing, based on his face, some mixture of disappointment, anger, and an intense longing to not have to spank his son. But he did. Right there on Grandma’s front porch, on Hwy 441. Cars speeding by, seeing the whole thing. Someone from school probably saw it. I’d be the laughingstock tomorrow.
He even said that cliched old line, “This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you.” But in that moment – and this is probably my strongest memory from this incident, save the extreme disappointment I felt – my father really felt that way. I believed then, as a kid, and I believe now, as an adult…more than twenty years removed from the experience, that spanking me honestly hurt him more than it hurt me.
I’ve never forgotten that moment, and don’t think I ever will. It was one of the defining moments of my childhood, though…and I remember it now – as a father…the influence and impact we can have on our kids even through what seems like some of the smallest moments.
more to come…time for bed now, though.
mightaswellruminate 