my fathers hands
I don't remember a lot about my childhood. I suppose my brain developed that way to protect me from certain things I was better off not remembering, which is fine with me. I can look at photographs from family vacations and birthday parties and holidays, but none of it ever clicks and I'm sure my family finds it strange that I have to ask every detail about what was happening and where in all the photographs. However, one thing distinctly stands out in my mind, and that is the small insignificant details about my father. Although they seem small and insignificant to the collective world, they are cherished memories for me. The way I picture my father in my memory may not make sense to some but I remember him as some magnificent sort of super hero. I thought he was the most handsome man to grace the planet. I remember he would come home in his BDU's and I guess that's where the super hero part plays in. At that point in time for my small mind the men in the military were an elite group of superheroes designated to keep America safe while the women and children slept soundly in their beds. You have to remember now, I was a small child at the time so things processed differently thought-wise those days. I was a very imaginative child. I remember thinking how much cooler I thought my dad was for the simple fact that his uniform was awesome and he looked so handsome in it. I would be so proud to walk around showing off MY Daddy. I'm not really sure why I'm putting this all into writing but I just felt like writing something and here we are. I guess also I wanted to write this down because it's one of the few things I can accurately remember from my elusive childhood. I really do wish I could remember more, however, I think the human brain knows full well what it's doing when it blocks the ability to retain certain information or events. I'm pretty sure it's a protection mechanism. Moving on, because that's not what this blog is meant to depict. Although it is depressing soemtimes to see myself smiling at the camera obviously enjoying myself but not being able to recall one single detail of that frame. It's a strange indescribable feeling. So as a child my father was my superhero. He could do no wrong in my eyes. I've always felt this way. I couldn't be angry with him if I tried my damndest. I can't describe the pride I feel when I look at my father. I remember I would wake up in the wee hours of the morning and catch a glimpse of TV light, so I would wander into the living room where my father would be sitting watching aerobics and drinking a piping hot cup of black as night coffee. Now that I'm older, I actually can understand why he watched those shows back then. It was the women in spandex. That makes me giggle to myself everytime I think of it. As a child, though, at the time I could have cared less what was on the television because this was my so cherished one on one time with my father and I felt so grown up and mature when he would let me fix a cup of coffee for myself, drowned with creamer and tons of sugar of course. I tried to be like my father and drink it black, but I just had to fold on that one. I remember he would let me sit in his lap and he would stroke my hair, while I most of the time just drifted back off to sleep. His hands are such a significant memory for me. The way they looked. The way they smelled. It was as if he had some wonderful concotion of scents made into a lotion. Cigarettes, aftershave, and leather. He always had a cigarette. Camels to be exact. Man he was so cool to me. His hands were always so rough, yet soft at the same time. He had numerous callouses, but I didn't mind because to me, those were the hands of a true superhero. I can remember constantly trying to figure out how to get my hands to smell like his. I never succeeded. It was a scent that couldn't be re-concocted. His feet always looked the same as his hands. Rough and calloused over and he would always wear these black military shower style flip flops. I learned later in life that it was the combat boots that made his feet like that because I slipped on my own pair. For the record they are quite possibly the most uncomfortable shoes known to man. I could barely walk I had so many blisters after the first day. If you already wear them then you probably know this, but if you ever intend to wear them, moleskin. Cut it so that it will fit the heel of your combat boots. I'm not really sure the purpose of this blog. I suppose it doesn't really have one. I would say it's more of an attempt to immortalize and share a cherished memory that no one probably cares to hear about but myself. Nonetheless. I don't exactly know why this is one of my few childhood memories but it's so meaningful and comforting to think of. It symbolizes some sort of sense of being completely safe from the world outside. Most people would be like it's a pair of hands, gosh! It's so much more than that for me though. It signifies everything that is my father. My father. My superhero. As a child if I were ever in the same room that he was in, I felt completely safe like nothing in the world could ever touch me or my sister. This probably all seems repetitive but this is how my brain is processing the memories, so just deal with it. Even now when I hug him or stand close to him, I can sometimes catch a little snippet of that significant aroma. After so many years the memory of my father's hands is still as fresh as it would be if all this unraveled yesterday. I can't possibly even explain it or make sense of it. I just remember all those little insignificant details. The aerobics, the black coffee, the dark green house robe, the black flip flops, his glasses. He actually lost those glasses in the ocean on vacation and he had to wear his military glasses for a short time and leave it up to me and my big mouth the first thing I did was say, "Daddy you look funny!" After I had just been told specifically to not act like they were any different than his others. Let me tell you. That came back around ten fold. I, too, got issued my very own pair of military glasses. Karma you have foiled me again! Bastard! For those of you who stuck it out this far into this blog, kudos to you because I know this is probably the most poorly written thing in a while. One fact remains though. My brain always associates that particular scent with a feeling of safety and complete security. My dad, the superhero. In all his rough handed flip flopped aerobicized glory. Of course he didn't actually aerobicize. He would just sip his coffee and thumb through some random car magazine. Sometimes he would make me go back to bed, but most of the time he would let me sit there. Those were my favorite moments. He probably never could've guessed it, but I would feel a sense of complete elation inside when he would let me stay. It was like our time. I had three other siblings so being selfish with a parent wasn't an option. So I absolutely cherished this time of the morning. As ridiculous as it sounds, it was in those type moments when I felt like I could conquer the world, even though I hadn't reached the double digits in age. I just absolutely love my father. Like I've said several times. He was my real life superhero that could accomplish anything. Even being seen in public with him in his BDU's caused me walk with such a sense of pride. If my thoughts were processed into words at the point in time you probably could've heard me say something similar to, "Yes this is my daddy! He's in the military! He's more awesome than your dad!" Even to this very day I swell with an immense sense of pride at the sight of my father coming into the room wearing BDU's. I just hope that one day I can make him truly proud of me, because I want to follow in his footsteps. These random little thoughts and memories hold such a special place in my heart. Anytime I smell those scents, I'm automatically taken back to the arm of my father's recliner and adult cup of coffee and my stolen moments of alone time with my dad. Life isn't perfect, but I hope one day that my child will look up at me with wide eyes because they think their mom is a true life superhero. My life would be absolutely complete. Well I've rambled on enough now. I also hope that I will have a husband that my child cherishes equally as much. They can steal those seemingly insignificant moments in time that actually last a lifetime. If none of this makes sense that's fine. It makes sense to me and that's really the only point. Camel cigarette smoke, aftershave, leather, callouses. To this day Camel cigarette smoke is the only kind that I actually like to smell, and I absolutely hate any other form of cigarette smoke. I'm not a smoker either, but with Camels I can deal. I was a strange child, I suppose. Hell I didn't have any other choice. We are who we are. And if I never have another childhood memory, I hope to always keep this one vivid and fresh as the day it was imprinted.