Save some of Daddy for the apple tree!

Save some of daddy for the apple tree.

  I love the colors of Arizona, red, gold, orange, with green scattered amongst the rich soil. I had forgotten how beautiful this part of the country is. It is quite a contrast from Southeast Texas where everything is
green, hot and steamy.

  I have missed Arizona.  I've  been living in Texas for 30 years now.
  My daddy was in the Park Service and we lived in Grand Canyon National Park. Like many rebellious teens, I got as far away, as fast as I could, from home. Now I’m back to scatter my daddy’s ashes.

  Here we are in a convoy of cars, driving to where my daddy specified to have his remains scattered. I have never been to this place we are going, but all four of my siblings have been there with Daddy.

  After daddy retired he moved to Seligman, Arizona, about a 90 minute drive from the south rim of the canyon.  He made the trek back and forth many times. The place we are going is where he would pull over to relieve himself and drink another beer before heading on. It is only about 15 minutes from my sister  Rita’s house, not too bad for a drive. It’s a beautiful fall day. The sun is bright, the air is crisp. My
niece Bridget is in the back seat with another niece, Katie, and her boyfriend. My sister, Mary Kay is driving and I am a passenger. Nobody is crying right now, so everything is ok.

  Here we are.  As we disembark the S.U.V. we all grab Kleenex just in case. We make loud crunching sounds on the rocks and gravel walking to the edge of the canyon of his choice.  It’s so pretty. Daddy sure
picked a nice place to fall.
  Five children and spouses, 5 grandkids, and friends, 16 in all, gathered around this beautiful overlook, a serene spot to be sure.

  Now my brother John is having a hard time getting the box from the mortuary opened.  All the females are starting to sob, thinking daddy has to stay in the box.  There, he gets it opened; now we are really
crying.  All of a sudden Rita yells,

“Save some of daddy for the apple tree.” Now we’re laughing and crying. John pours some beer saying,

“Daddy would want a beer.” Brother Frank throws 2 cigarettes saying,

“Daddy would want a smoke with that beer.” Now Juan, my brother- in- law, shakes his head and says,

“Daddy is cussing us all out right now because, you didn’t give him a light.”

We all giggle and I’m sure we had mass visions of daddy not needing a match where he was currently located. Of course we don’t know what else to say so we stand around cry-laughing for a few
minutes before heading back. It’s time to go back to Rita’s house to finish the little service we are calling Daddy’s memorial because he said he didn’t want a funeral. He was very adamant about it.

  It’s quiet as we travel back to town. I think we are all having personal thoughts of Daddy. I marvel at how much one man can change in the course of my lifetime. Or was it really me that changed? I have much to say on both subjects, but for now I’ll just reminisce.

  Back at Rita’s, we have one more event to conclude the ceremony. Rita and Juan bought an apple tree, and we are going to plant it and put some of daddy around it. We take turns with the shovel, scatter more of Daddy, and pray. Now, as the grandkids say, it’s time to eat!  Rita’s patio has a grand spread prepared.

  Rita and Juan have made a nice life for themselves in Seligman, Arizona, “The Birthplace of Historic Route 66.”  Seligman is in the desert between nowhere and Timbucktoo, but many people are choosing to buy land and live here, especially retired folk. Seligman almost disappeared, as so many other towns did,
when Interstate 10 was built. Originally a railroad town, it was home to many Bisbee copper mine employees as well. Then the Interstate was built, businesses died, and the town was almost a goner, when, Juan’s uncle thought to capitalize on Route 66. He started a campaign to make it historic, and after many
years, it succeeded. Now it is known nationwide. Seligman is doing well as a tourist town.

  Almost everyone in town is related. It’s about 90% Hispanic and the rest is made up of Indian and white. Rita and Juan own the Snowcap Café, passed down from Juan’s dad. The Snow Cap and Juan’s dad were landmarks by themselves.

  Rita and Juan have four kids and one grandchild. Rita is the baby of 5 siblings and has always been the mother hen. Next in line is brother John, who was dad’s favorite at the time of his death. Therefore, he is the executor of dad’s estate. Mary Kay is the middle child and the smart one. I place next to the oldest,
who is my brother, Frank.

  I was a rebel and in trouble most of my life. I didn’t fit in well anywhere, and thought most people were pretty much selfish and weird. I especially thought this of my family, and often pretended not to know
them.

  My mother is a cross between Carol Burnett and Edith Bunker, with a lot of mommy dearest thrown in for good measure.  My parents were divorced, twice! They remarried each other after one year, to our complete dismay. When they divorced the second time, we were relieved but very upset about the way it came about.

  My brother John, when he was fifteen- years -old, was out partying with friends. Fifteen year old boys sometimes do that. They had some beers and John got out of the car to relieve himself. The problem was, they were in the store parking lot and a park ranger saw it and they got picked up. He took them to the
station and called our parents. Our dad went ballistic and kicked John out of the house, completely disowning him!  Well, mom took this as her opportunity to split, and packed the little yellow Datsun pick-up truck with camper to the max, and moved to California to start a new life for herself, and her son.  Soon, my two sisters joined them. I was married, but separated at the time, and stayed in Grand Canyon with my two- year -old son.

  It wasn’t long before John, Mary Kay, and Rita were back home, all forgiven, except mom, who was too busy sowing her wild oats. I’m told, they were very wild oats, in sunny California!

  I always thought I was special to him (my daddy) when I was young. As I grew older, he changed, or, was it me?
Anyway, I believed we were really tight. My parents fought a lot. On two occasions dad moved out and I moved out with him. I loved it! Daddy loved me. Mom hated it. I liked to think it was because I was so cute and cuddly that Daddy doted on me. It drove mom crazy and I think she was jealous. I don’t know, but God will probably tell me I had been conceited, so I’ll just say there was a mutual dislike between me and my mother.

  When I was five, and Frank was eight, our sister Mary Kay was born. Then came John and Rita, and I became a babysitter. When Daddy came home from work at night, it made my day. He always had a big hug and a kiss for me
.
Yes my daddy was my hero. I loved for him to carry me around. He always seemed proud of me. Even when I was young he told me secrets. Sometimes after mom and dad had a fight he would come and talk to me.

“Joycie, a man can only take so much. So if you have an argument, drop it before he gets so mad he has to hit something. Remember that!”

I have always remembered that. It also says in the Bible, in Proverbs, to drop a dispute before an argument breaks out.

  Daddy planted lots of nuggets of wisdom in my brain. For instance, I never leave my house without my keys already in my hand. Keys at the ready before heading out the door! Yes sir!

  One day he came up to me, really seriously, and said,

“Joycie, when you grow up and start dating, if a boy takes you parking, which I hope you don’t, but if you do, remember to make sure the ignition is turned off. Carbon monoxide kills, remember that.” I still remember. I was only ten years old!

  As I grew older, daddy stayed my main man. He taught me how to cook. Mom was an ‘okay’ cook, and always did Thanksgiving and big occasions. But, when it came to everyday after work meals for a family of seven, it was daddy. He was the king of cuisine and could make a meal out of next to nothing. He had many specialties but Mexican was his best.

  When I was fifteen, my parents had a dinner party with about four couples. The other kids stayed hidden in their bedrooms. Dad and I were alone in the kitchen. He was checking on his enchiladas in the oven when he let out a very long, loud passage of gas. I cried,

“Daddy how could you?” Just then a dinner guest walked in and took a deep breath and said,

“something sure does smell good.”

I laughed until I cried, and I don’t think the dinner guest ever knew why I was rolling on the floor holding my sides.

As I said, dad taught me how to cook and to drive. He taught me patience as well. He had enormous patience while teaching me to drive. I later suspected some of what I thought was patience, was really that my dad was good at tuning people out, with the help of the bourbon he always drank.

  Dad never seemed mad and never yelled at us kids. My dad could do anything he set his mind to do, and he did it with excellence. Everywhere we moved, he would landscape the backyard. He was better than anyone on H.G.T.V.
  He was also a great carpenter. When I was little, around six years old, he built me a playhouse, kid sized. It was not just any playhouse, but one about seven feet tall, six foot square, with real working glass windows and a door. It had a shingle roof and yellow gingerbread trim. It was a little girl’s dream come
true. Thank-you daddy! I wanted to live in that playhouse. I enjoyed it for many years, until we moved. We couldn’t possibly move it hundreds of miles away. It was, after all, the size of a small bedroom.

  Daddy also made furniture out of old furniture. He made chain lamps and table lamps out of old kitchen chairs. They were beautiful, with real amber hammered glass. He made a hope chest out of an old television console, for his oldest daughter. I have it today in my house thanks to my sister Rita who took
good care of it for me. Dad would remodel old houses for fun. Bob Villa would envy my dad’s ideas.
Yes, my daddy was amazing. He was, by trade an electrician and a refrigeration mechanic. He would work on restaurant walk in refrigerators, and freezers, and air conditioners. To the dismay of mom, he would often take a few meals as payment for hours and hours of work. I can’t really blame mom for preferring cold hard cash. But daddy was kind hearted, and would help anyone that asked. He would even help people he didn’t particularly care for. Over the years, he helped many people start their own businesses with his expertise, and never ask for anything in return.

  Yeah, my daddy was great. He drank too much. He cussed too much. He gave away far too much of himself.

  Now, here we are, at his memorial service, on his birthday. My brother John managed to save some of Daddy for the apple tree, so even in death he is still giving of himself. I can come and visit any time I want, as long as Rita doesn’t move.

  Tomorrow, we all go home. Mary Kay to California, John to Colorado, me to Texas, and we will try to get together, every year, for a visit.

  I told you daddy changed over the years. Well, he did in my eyes. As he got older, he got grumpy and complained a lot. I am told that is normal for all males. He also didn’t watch his cussing anymore. He did not care who heard him. I really know that he was a man that had a lot of faults.  As a born again, full gospel believer, I would say he probably wasn’t saved.

I was holding daddy’s hand when he passed away. We prayed with him and asked him to follow along in his mind. I think he did. I’m going to believe he asked for forgiveness, and asked Jesus into his heart. I’m going to believe I will see him again in heaven. Anyway, I know I have a Father in heaven who loves me
more than daddy ever could, but I thank God for giving me Daddy here on earth. Good Bye Daddy. 
Love,
Joyce