MY DADDY

 Daddy was tall and big and quiet. He had red-brown skin and thinning dark hair. He always wore a cap outside, the baseball kind, only not with color, just gray. His eyes were dark, and he said more with his eyes then he ever did talking. I always knew when I did something really bad by Daddy's eyes, and I knew by his eyes how much he loved me. They would light up and get sparkley whenever he saw me, and especially after I'd been gone with Mama on her day off.

    The house Daddy bought for me in Imperial Beach was really too small for all of us, just three rooms, but Daddy worked on it every day after work on the railraod at North Island Navy Base in Coronado and all day on week-ends, and pretty soon it was big enough. Grandma helped, and our new neighbors, Mr. Hancock and sometimes Old Man Alstatt, helped too. But mostly it was me and Daddy who fixed our house so nice.

    Once the new rooms were on - another bedroom, a new kitchen and a dining room - me and Daddy laid a sidewalk all around the house. Because I helped so good, Daddy put my footprint and the date in the wet cement by the side of the house. He said that forever after anybody that saw that footprint would know somebody real little was a good worker. Later we built a garage too. Me and Daddy liked to work.

    One day Daddy brought home a tiny little pepper tree in his lunch pail that he said would grow real fast so he could put up a swing for me. We planted the little tree way in the back yard where the chicken pen was going to be, and Daddy was right. That tree grew real fast, and he put up a swing.

    We put up a big, long clothes line for Grandma, and we built windmills to put on the poles at the ends. One was an airplane windmill and the other was a bird house windmill. Stuff like the windmills we made in the garage at Daddy's workbench. I loved working with Daddy in there. He never liked to talk much, so I got to do all the talking. Daddy listened better then anybody. And I liked playing with his tools too. He had one of those things with a bug in it that told you when something was even by how the bug was in the glass. Whenever Daddy had to saw something, he'd let me tighten the vise, and then I'd check with the bug tool to make sure it was straight before he cut it.

    Waiting for Daddy to get home from work was the very best part of the day. He depended on me to have the gate open for him so he wouldn't have to get out of his car. Then I'd shut the gate and run to the garage for my ride. I'd sit on his foot and cling to his calf like a monkey while he'd swing his leg up high in the air as he walked in the house. Daddy hurt his knee on the railroad and it was stiff and he couldn't bend it for a long time, so he'd swing me really high.

    On payday's Daddy would drive all the way home to get me and Grandma, then drive all the way back to work to pick up his check. He did that so he could show me off to his friends at work. On the drive to work sometimes I'd sit on the seat behind Daddy's head and sometimes on his arm as he steered. But one day while I was sitting behind him I put my hands over Daddy's eyes to play "Guess Who?" and scared the pea-waddling out of Grandma. She screamed and grabbed the steering wheel while Daddy got my hands off his eyes. I didn't want to let go until he guessed who but he pulled my hands off firmly, and after that I could only ride on his arm while we were driving the car.

    Grandma got kind of mad that time 'cause Daddy didn't spank me or make me ride in the back seat after scaring her so bad. But Daddy hardly ever got mad at me. Not when everybody but Daddy thought me and Ronnie started the shed on fire, or when I started the closet on fire, or when I hit Ronnie over the head with my bat, though he did spank me that time. Daddy didn't even get mad when I peed on his arm. He just said it was Grandma's fault 'cause she didn't let me go to the bathroom before we left. Grandma got really mad that time, too. I could tell by the way her lips were. And Mama was always mad 'cause Daddy carried me everywhere. He just said it didn't matter how old I was, I was little. And I was his baby, so he could carry me if he wanted to.

    Daddy loved me more than anybody in the world. And I loved him most too. I promised him when I was real little that when I grew up I would marry him and take care of him like Grandma did. It didn't matter to me that Daddy chewed tobacco, and I was teaching him how to read from the funnies in the newspaper. Every day after work, while Daddy sat in his easy chair drinking his one beer for the day, I would sit in his lap and read to him from the paper.

    It was mostly because of reading to Daddy that I kept talking after I lost my hearing. And especially then it didn't matter that he didn't talk much. Daddy and I talked in other ways, with our eyes and our way of being together.

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