Little Story #19

I met my dad when I was 11 or 12. My maternal grandmother used to tell me he was dead. His mother disowned him for awhile. Divorce really wasn't common and it was a big deal in the family. I'll never know exactly what happened among the adults but there I was one day - in a car with my aunt. She was asking if I wanted to meet him. I asked if he was alive, which was me being a smart ass. He was on his way so I didn't really have a choice.
There was a picture on the dresser of a much younger him. He was very handsome. I stared at that picture trying to see myself in him.
I remember him walking in the door. He'd lost some hair and grown a little bit of a belly. But that dude had charm that radiated. It was subtle. He seemed absolutely confident that everyone would love him. I did. We looked through old photo albums. Me desperately trying to show him how cute and lovable I had been. I was like a puppy at his feet. Panting.
We went for a drive around town. People we saw were all happy to see him. They looked at me and said I looked just like him. I still couldn't see it but I smiled a big wide smile. He bought me a blue record player and an album, Meet the Beatles.  He owned me.
I also remember sitting in the back of the car on the way home from the airport with my new record player on the seat next to me. The mommie sat in front. She never said anything negative about him. I can imagine how it felt for her to have worked as hard as she worked to pay the bills and send me to dance class, piano lessons and summer camp for years. All he had to do was buy me a record player and a Beatles album and he won my heart.
I still didn't see him that much. If you added it all up I probably spent less than a year with him. I was never relaxed around him. From time to time my birthday falls on Father's day. Irony. I'd call him to say happy Father's Day and he'd forget to say happy birthday.
So.
You know.
That happened.