Sorry

Sorry! That is how my grandmother used to describe men that had families, but did not take care of them. As the owner of an establishment that served adult beverages, she saw her share of sorry men. She was a hopeless romantic and an optimist; only an optimist could marry six times and still hope to find lasting true love. Many people have compared me to my grandmother, her friends thought it a compliment, but when family does the comparing it is not meant to flatter.

I recently had a male friend tell me he really liked me, but would never marry me because the odds were not good. I did have to laugh about that. I have been married five times (twice to the same husband) and only the first one still breathes. To be clear, only one died while married to me, the others just were products of their lifestyles.

Today being Father's Day, I thought I might reminisce a bit on the way my dad handled child rearing. My dad was from the school of corporal punishment. He was very consistent with his expectations and with the punishment for not meeting those expectations. "Do it my way" he explained. I got spankings every day of the world until I was at least six years old, because I always wanted to do things my way. In the late spring after turning six in March, I made the mistake of letting my baby brother get hurt. The punishment was swift and painful ... my dad boxed my ears. I got a terrible earache and had it until right before going to first grade. I did not get to swim but once that summer, because of my ear. I spent lots of time in my room, so the spankings were substantially less frequent.
My dad was a good dad. He never threw anything at me. The belt was only swatted on my backside. And best of all he talked to me before spanking me. He wanted to be sure I knew why I was getting a spanking.

My grandmother would cry if my dad spanked any of us kids while she was around. My dad said she gave him plenty of grief when he was still at home. He said she would hit him with whatever was closest  to her.  Dad joined the Air Force to have a job and housing and three squares a day. I think dad might have had dreams of being a drill instructor. When my sister and I were three and four years old he would have us march in to the kitchen and stand at attention. We would be instructed to suck in our gut, level our chin and answer his inquiries as to whether we had brushed our teeth, washed our faces and combed our hair.

As I got older dad was the one that taught me how to clean the kitchen and scour the bathroom and sweep the floor. He taught me to make scrambled eggs and pancakes. Dad taught me many things, but one thing I wish he would have taught me was how to pick a husband. Well even that worked out when I married his best friend.

Bill was the best husband for me. I guess because he had been my dad's friend so long that he could put up with me. He would joke sometimes and call me Joan (meaning it as the female version of John.) He loved me more than I deserved and treated my children from the other marriages very kindly. He worked hard and supported us better and better as the years went by. Then last September he got a bad head ache and was gone before I could even tell him how much he meant to me.

So today, Father's Day 2014  I have cried and cried because I am sorry that I  took for granted that we would have more time together. People,  do not put off spending time with those you love. No one ever says on their death bed that they wish they would have worked more or watched more TV. Pick up the phone and tell him or her how much joy you have when you are together.

Until Later~ Rita Darlene