Simply Sneaky
Monday, September 20, 2010
Happiness
Oops. Almost two months have past since I posted last.
Had he not died 20 years ago, my dad would have been 85 years old last week.
I can't even imagine him as an "old" man, feeble and rickety.
I never really "knew" my dad even though I lived with him for 18 years.
The things I did know, or that I can look back at now and realize are that he was an angry, unhappy, probably depressed individual. To the outside world? He was Mr. Great. Funny, charming, friendly and happy. At home he was not that man. Sure we had a few fun times, but not more than I could count on my one hand. He farmed and raised cattle. He worked very, very hard in ugly weather conditions.
I spent many, many hours trying to be perfect and quiet and "right", so as not to anger him or embarrass him or cause him to explode. Because when he did explode?? Holy Hell, it was not pretty. It was pretty darn scary.
I suppose that he would be classified as a "good man". He worked, we were not hungry or unclothed.
I just wish, now, that he could have been happy. It seems so sad to think of someone as being that unhappy all the time.
As I think of him and that unhappiness, it makes me want more for myself. Find happiness and revel in it. Throw off that cloak of guilt and despair and live.
One thing my dad did that I never understood was that he would drive around. Just drive. Going about 30 miles per hour on our back country, gravel roads. Left arm hanging out the window, farmer's cap perched a little ways back on his head, cigar between his fingers or in his mouth. Usually he was listening to a Royal's or Cardinal's baseball game on the scratchy am radio station broadcasting out of the city many miles away. He looked and watched and "farmed" from the pickup cab.
Now I find myself doing that same thing. No, not on dusty, country roads but on big city streets.
Usually with my window rolled down, my left arm hanging out, my camera on the seat next to me.
I look. I watch. I wonder. I find the beauty of the city with my camera lens. Sometimes it's the same street, the same park. But it always looks a little different. The lighting, the weather, my mood.
I find it extremely comforting looking for that beauty. I am continually finding beauty where I least expect it. It makes me happy.
I wonder if when my dad looked out his pickup window at the passing fields and pastures and hay bales if he saw the beauty of that? Did it make him happy? Was he happy?
I sure hope so.
Had he not died 20 years ago, my dad would have been 85 years old last week.
I can't even imagine him as an "old" man, feeble and rickety.
I never really "knew" my dad even though I lived with him for 18 years.
The things I did know, or that I can look back at now and realize are that he was an angry, unhappy, probably depressed individual. To the outside world? He was Mr. Great. Funny, charming, friendly and happy. At home he was not that man. Sure we had a few fun times, but not more than I could count on my one hand. He farmed and raised cattle. He worked very, very hard in ugly weather conditions.
I spent many, many hours trying to be perfect and quiet and "right", so as not to anger him or embarrass him or cause him to explode. Because when he did explode?? Holy Hell, it was not pretty. It was pretty darn scary.
I suppose that he would be classified as a "good man". He worked, we were not hungry or unclothed.
I just wish, now, that he could have been happy. It seems so sad to think of someone as being that unhappy all the time.
As I think of him and that unhappiness, it makes me want more for myself. Find happiness and revel in it. Throw off that cloak of guilt and despair and live.
One thing my dad did that I never understood was that he would drive around. Just drive. Going about 30 miles per hour on our back country, gravel roads. Left arm hanging out the window, farmer's cap perched a little ways back on his head, cigar between his fingers or in his mouth. Usually he was listening to a Royal's or Cardinal's baseball game on the scratchy am radio station broadcasting out of the city many miles away. He looked and watched and "farmed" from the pickup cab.
Now I find myself doing that same thing. No, not on dusty, country roads but on big city streets.
Usually with my window rolled down, my left arm hanging out, my camera on the seat next to me.
I look. I watch. I wonder. I find the beauty of the city with my camera lens. Sometimes it's the same street, the same park. But it always looks a little different. The lighting, the weather, my mood.
I find it extremely comforting looking for that beauty. I am continually finding beauty where I least expect it. It makes me happy.
I wonder if when my dad looked out his pickup window at the passing fields and pastures and hay bales if he saw the beauty of that? Did it make him happy? Was he happy?
I sure hope so.
posted by S at 11:41 AM
1 Comments:
My husband's maternal grandfather was a farmer (his family runs a blueberry farm). In the short time I knew him, I would come into the area and see him "jiddyading" (as they would call it) around the town, farming from his window, I presume.
Often Jim will go for a ride. And he'll drive around, just listening to music. Jiddyading, I guess.
I never understand it. I hate driving.
I made the connection from your connection. Thanks!
Post a Comment
<< Home