He loves me...he loves me. in QUOTIDIEN

Daisies.....

A horrible person he was, my father. A womanizer. A shirker of parental responsibility. Given that we were an entire country away, there really was no way for us to know otherwise, yet, I still craved him in the same way addicts crave their drugs. He couldn't possibly be worse than some of the men my mother met since their divorce.....or the one she ultimately married. God!

As I later learned, my father wasn't much different than my mother had described - except that he loved me the only way he knew how....and I was happy to accept him that way.

I discovered him...the inner man....over the course of several years, during intermittent visits.

He was a non-traditionally smart man. It would take a topic that fascinated him - and he would set about learning all that he could on that subject matter.

When I was two, he would take me to the pet store to purchase tropical fish for our tanks. Apparently, I knew them all by their Latin names. I don't remember him teaching me, but in one of her more tender moments, Maman shared how I would sit on his lap while he went through is books, pointing at the fish and asking for their proper names. I also recall him taking me to an honest-to-goodness butcher shop with sawdust on the wooden floors, and dusty windows. I do recall being instructed, along the way, about what cuts we were picking up - and standing proudly before that mile-high counter, putting in our order like a tiny little mommy. "...and Mr. _, this time we'd like a lilt more marbles please.' No typo - I couldn't have been more than 5 at the time.

He used to bring out blankets and pillows out to the patio doors so we could better watch the stormy clouds, and the wind rifle through the acres of corn behind our house. And on Saturday mornings, he would play the ALLEY CAT album (BentFabric) as loud as the old Grundig could handle until we came down for breakfast and cartoons.

:deeeeeeep breath: So, so many memories -triggered by his favorite flower - the Daisy.