My Dad and I

                Growing up with dad was not easy, but we both survive; since raising me was not easy either. My dad is a Marine, a Proud United States of America Marine; but it was not something he needed to tell others about, and I respected that. Even so he was hard on us, my one brother and I; the other one was a spoiled brat and got away with everything.

                As a teenager I was tough, mean and not very nice to others; everyone was stupid and I knew it all; or at least I thought so. I fought off feely touchy disgusting men, on the New York City platforms. I had no problem punching someone in the face or giving them a hard swift kick in places that truly hurt.  That was me, take it or leave it was my attitude.

                I believe that to be my dad’s attitude as well, and he was determined to remind me of it day in and day out. He was hard on me, was it because I was a girl; daddy’s little girl? Was it because when we worked together we didn’t need words; we thought very much alike. If we were working together, I always knew what tool he needed before he spoke the word. I knew the difference between a flat head screw driver and a Philips head, I knew my hammers and my wrenches as well. We were a team, but during those teenage years I did not see it that way. I did what I had to do because; I guess you can say I was an obedient child.

                I grew up and grew wise, but it all took time; sixteen years old, twenty two years old; I guess by thirty I had gotten it right Perhaps it was because I had a child or my own, and in time I had children. Together my dad and I grew, and I brought my children in to our world child one at a time. There were only two, my son and my daughter, but they loved their Pappy, and enjoyed the time they spent with him.