The Gift Behind The Legacy

For the December Artsy Essay Thank you Judith! December's Artsy Essay

 

I can hand you a beginning, I can explain the middle, but the end is not for me to share, for that will be a story told by another.........

The Beginning.............There is but always, two sides to a story..........

My Fathers Story: He was innocently fishing, standing a few feet out in the water of a river when my Mother, grandmother, and a few various Aunts sat down behind him much too close of course, with new infant in tow. Oblivious to him (and for the life of him he couldn't understand why they would pick that spot), we were within striking distance of a flying spinner and by some stroke of bad luck a treble hook planted itself firmly into the side of my cheek. So much for the beauty of 2 week old skin.

    Instantly he heard the shrieks of woman and the crying of an infant. Horrified as any Father would be, he swooped in, gently bent the barbs back and slid the hook out. Meanwhile, of course, being in the trusted hands of her father, I stopped crying and took my first "hooking" of a fishing hook like any fisherman would, calmly. Just as the dramatics of the hooking calmed my Mother again began to shriek, screaming rants and raves of a woman gone mad. It seems a tick had made it's home sneakily behind my ear. Again, in the face of crazy women, he calmly removed my first tick and again I took it like any person of outdoors birthright, calmly.  

   
My Mothers Version: The womenfolk spread their blankets out in a pretty little spot next to the river. The men were all out fishing, my father included, was some 5 yards down from us. My Mothers ever present watchful eye noticed my Father inching his way towards their safehaven and called out to him several times to not get so close. In one of those defining moments when she had glanced away, he had again moved closer and without warning flung his spinner viciously back impaling my innocent sleeping face and mercilessly tried to cast his infant daughter into the river.

    Upon realizing he didn't have a huge fish on the line, but that of his 2 week old daughter, he casually meandered over to the horrified woman. My mother promptly told him he need to cut off the barbs and remove the offending hooks. With his large, cumbersome hands he yanked, pulled, twisted, all the while I am screaming bloody murder, my mother is bawling and the other woman are screaming at their husbands to come help. Once my Father gave one final vicious yank the offending hook was removed and my Mother briskly removed me from his hands and tucked me tight in her arms.

   This is when she saw the offending tick and in her words "Almost killed your father for making me take a 2 week old baby camping."  Now if your still following this story, you'll have to understand these were the days when removing a tick was a simple task of lighting a match, blowing it out, quickly placing the burning stick on the ticks backside, which in turn scares the tick so badly it backs out of the skin and poof, cured.

   My mother swears he hardly took the time to aim and burned a small hole the size of a canyon in my precious skin. She insists that by now I'm sobbing so hard I'm turning blue, she didn't think I would live through all the trauma.  Divorce was now a pending threat. Again my father tried to burn the little tick, and with the help of several hands holding me still, he was able to burn and yank the tick out. I lived to tell the story............

The middle...............The Gift Behind The Legacy
   I imagine some may wonder why this would be a gift to anyone. But I look at it as but a beginning, the beginning of what I was to become, my legacy, a gift from Father to Daughter. 
       
           It was my father and his passion for the outdoors that kept me outside rather then in, all the years I was growing up. He never left me home, but took me on every fishing, hunting, camping trip he engaged in.

            There I would be standing, a wisp of a girl circled by all the men, holding my own fishing pole, or my own BB gun, a tiny little buck knife slipped in my pocket. My father never left me out. I was an eager student. If I ever complained I couldn't, he would always look me in the eye's and say "Yes, you can, I know you can, your my daughter." That was all the inspiration I ever needed, his belief. 
      
        My father is a simple man. His philosophy cannot be elevated to that of a poet. He speaks in simplicity. When I asked why the sky was blue, he simply said, "Why question something as pretty as blue." When I asked why I wasn't catching a fish, he would say "Your not thinking like a fish." If I asked how come I had to be so quiet in the woods he would say, "Because if your making noise you can't hear." Simple answers for simple questions. 
      
         But with those simple answers I was learning. I learned how to "think like a fish." My father would always walk up to a river and rather then just cast in, he would kneel down, cock his head to the side and listen. He would watch the water, looking for the most tiny of riffle. He calls it his routine, I now see it as his wisdom. 
      
         I would be there, knelt down beside him, watching and learning. A river is a symphony within itself, the sounds, the movement. Without his guidance, I'm not sure I would ever know the orchestra that is played within it's banks. If you are in tune with the sounds, you can hear the tiniest sound of a fish rolling the top of the water, or slurping a tiny little fly off the surface. You can hear where the rocks are hidden beneath the water, or the slow silence of a sand bar. 
      
       My Father taught me how to walk through the woods without snapping the twigs that lie beneath my feet. I can maneuver through the forest without a trace, without a sound. I am never afraid to be alone there be it light or dark. My father felt everyone who meandered through his Mother nature needed to be taught appreciation and admiration. It was a "earned right" he said, "never to be taken for granted." That is his wisdom, his poetry.

           He also showed me how to honor life, nature, my surroundings. He would never take the life of one of Mother Natures creatures unless given by her. We have an appreciation, a give and take understanding.  It's an honor I hold dear to my heart and I owe that to my Father.    

       Each Christmas I would be excited to see what special gift came just from my Father. It would never be wrapped as neatly as the ones my Mother did, it would have a small card with it and it would always be something to do with the outdoors. I think the best one was when I was 5 years old. My first BB gun, Daisy Red Ridder. It was truly very similar to the movie "The Christmas Story." My father had purchased it without my Mothers permission. It was hidden towards the back. And upon opening it the first words out of my Mothers mouth were the old adiu......"She'll shoot her eye out!" I never shot my eye out, but certainly had a few ricochets that came close. Of course thats my little secret.

      One year I received my very own buck knife, with my initials engraved. I think the only time I ever went wrong with a present was my first bow and arrow set. My father gave me specific instructions. Aim only at the target on the bale of hay. No problem I said < I was about 9> The day after Christmas I was all set up for my first rounds of shooting. My father gave lessons & instructions and retreated back into the house.

        A cynical little neighbor boy came over to worship my new prize, but in his true nature started to ridicule my gift. He claimed "It wasn't powerful enough to hurt a log." He also teased it probably couldn't be shot any higher then 20 feet. To show my fathers gift was but of the highest quality I pointed it to the sky and whoooosshhhh it was off like a rocket. Upon not seeing it's direction any more we both scattered to the nearest porch for fear of being impaled. Seconds clicked into minutes and we were still unsure where the arrow had gone.

       It was when I saw the biggest, meanest, neighbor headed into our pasture with my arrow in his hand I knew I was dead. Toast.  Annihilated. A goner with a capitol G. It seems my arrow landed just inches in the dirt away from his horse. Of course, with any truly sinful break of rules, he was there to witness it. I sat on the porch swing, bow in hand, awaiting my fate. My father didn't kill me as I expected, I even somehow avoided a full spanking, but my bow, my precious new bow was murdered right before my eye's. Splintered, broke in half. My father simply said if I couldn't follow rules, and put people in danger, I wouldn't have the privilege of ever owning a weapon. Grounded from fishing pole, BB gun, buck knife, everything for 6 months......ohh the torture. I have never touched a bow since, nor have I bent the "rules" even slightly.

         My Father gave me a gift no one can ever demean, steal, harm, or destroy. My gift is here, inside me. In the face of diversity, I simply walk outside to be comforted. My gift never turns it's back on me, but holds open her arms and heart. I can see a Mountain and revel in it's glory, I can hear a river and hear the words it speaks, I can see an elk and marvel at it's magnificent power. Nothing is ever taken for granted.

       Friendships can come and go. Love is beautiful and treasured, but I've found sometimes the strings that are attached can sometimes become twisted and tangled even with the best intentions. My gift is something burned into my heart and soul, something to be next to me until my ashes are floating down my favorite river. My gift is an identity I carry proudly and owe entirely to a man who didn't see a little girl, but saw a daughter who wanted to be taught, who wanted to listen, who wanted to understand all the wonders he knew about. For this I thank him a million times over. For my gift is treasured beyond words themselves can express........This is my gift, the gift behind my legacy............

The End is not for me to tell, but  will be decided and told around campfires in the future far from now....................