Taxes and the most important man in my life.

Today is April 15th, the worst day of the year for some. This year as is usually the case, I received a decent refund from the federal government. However this year as a first, I had to pay a chunk to the State Government. But- taxes are boring subject matter. We all pay them, and some of us, myself included thanks to unemployment, actually benefit first hand from tax payments. Such is a democracy and I think that is a good thing.

But, April 15th is also my fathers birthday. My daddy is still monumental in my life. When we were young, my mother did most of the child rearing, and discipline, she took care of our needs. Dad was more of a background kind of dad. But the times when it was just us girls (my sister and I are the only kids) and dad, those were cherished times. My sister and I still giggle when we talk about days with dad.

With only two girls, no boys, and being raised hunting and fishing, there was really no other way than to take your girls and that is what my dad did. He could be harsh and gruff, or soft as a kitten and he really didn't know what to do with us when we shed a tear.
One of the hunting trips my sister and I recall often is when dad got us up in the wee hours of the morning to take us deer hunting. We were young, tired, not sure about hunting anything, and bored out of our minds. I remember sitting on the top of the hill, on an uncomfortable rock, and waiting. It was a bit chilly and we began to complain, 'How looong til we see a deer?' But Dad would shush us. 'You'll scare them all away.' Daddy I'm coooold.' 'Here put on my shirt. But be quiet.' He would be patient with us, but as the day wore on, he would get more aggravated.
My sister and I would horse around and get rowdy. Not sure how he ever thought he would get a deer. And I am sure mom was home with her feet up and a good movie she could watch all the way through.
Then my sister began looking at rocks, and nature things. No matter where we went camping, my sister loved bringing home bits of nature. Pretty rocks, snake skins, animal bones, and plants. Once she begged to bring home a tiny cactus that was in the shape of a heart, my parents agreed and when they sold their house this past summer, that thing had grown to enormous proportions and nearly taken over a potion of their yard.
On this particular trip, my sister spied some long white hollow sticks. We just knew they had to have come from an animal. When my sister showed my dad, he explained they were porcupine quills. 'Awesome!'
My sister held them until her fingers hurt. She wanted them as a souvenir. As the day dragged on and the afternoon heat was setting in, dad decided it was time to retreat from our unsuccessful day of hunting. And we began hiking back to our SUV below.
My sister could not hike and carry the sharp quills at the same time. I think I recall my dad telling her to toss them. But they were too cool to just discard like that!
My dad always carried a dark red mechanics rag when we were fishing or hunting. He had one in his back pocket as we hiked. He pulled it out, and wrapped the quills carefully in the rag, preserving them for my sister. She beamed thinking about how her Friends would react when she returned home. We hiked a little more and although my memory is fried from too much night school, it seems we stopped to have a sandwich my dad had made and packed for lunch.
When my dad handed out our sandwiches and settled on a large rock to eat his own, the quills punched their way through the red rag, through his jeans and right smack into his backside.
Oh the fire in his eyes! The rage of a father... who didn't want to take the quills home in the first place, who was frustrated with two daughters who were clearly not interested in hiking or hunting, tired from rising so early in the a.m. and then, to be pierced in his more sensitive bits by aforementioned sharp quills. He blew his top! Threw them on the ground, said they were not going any further and we were gong home.
Thinking back to this day makes my sister and I giggle to no end. I don't remember much more of the day, I cant tell you if the quills made it home or not... I do know that neither I, nor my sister said another word on the hike back to the car. We just gave each other that knowing smile that sisters in trouble do.. best to let dad simmer on his own time.
But these are memories. This is but one short story of times spent with my dad, memories to be cherished forever. When we have family get-together like we will have this weekend, sometimes these stories come up. Sharing with my own children helps me to share my dad with them.
There is something to be said for a father of girls. and my dad is the best!

My parents on on their way to my house for the weekend as I write this and we are so excited to see them. Maybe I will share more anecdotes from my childhood her on my blog in the next few posts.
But today with this story, I celebrate my close relationship with my dad. And wish him a very Happy 65th Birthday!
Love you dad!